THRE 


GERTRUDE 

M 

SHIELDS 


CASTE  THREE 


OF  CALIF.  LIBRARY,   LOS  AHGELBS 


••••i 
She  was  intimately  appealing 


CASTE  THREE 


BY 

GERTRUDE  M.  SHIELDS 


WITH  FRONTISPIECE 

BY  FLORENCE  GARDNER 


NEW  YORK 

THE  CENTURY  CO. 

1918 


Copyright,  1918,  by 
THE  CENTUBY  Co. 


Published,  May,  1918 


TO 
EDITH  EATON  ALEXANDER, 

MOST  DELIGHTFUL  OK  FRIENDS. 
I  DEDICATE  THIS  BOOK 


2132728 


CASTE  THREE 


CASTE  THREE 

CHAPTER  I 

UP  to  the  second  before  the  train  pulled  out  of  the 
Sixty-seventh  Street  station,  the  Pullman  was 
the  exclusive  possession  of  a  gray-eyed,  dark-haired, 
thin-legged  youth  who  was  intent  upon  a  figure  out- 
side his  window.  He  was  watching  a  young  man 
outside,  an  oldish  young  man  with  jolly  blue  eyes  and 
a  bright  smile.  The  latter  also  had  curly  hair,  which 
was  publicly  to  be  observed  because  the  jolly  young 
man  was  holding  his  derby  —  a  new  autumn  one  of 
great  glossiness  of  finish  —  in  his  hand. 

Just  as  the  train  gave  a  premonitory  lurch  another 
young  man  appeared  in  the  doorway  and  tossed  his  bag 
into  the  car  with  a  commotion  which  distracted  the  at- 
tention of  the  only  other  occupant  from  his  brother  on 
the  platform.  The  newcomer  removed  his  hat  to  wipe 
his  forehead  and  grinned  good-naturedly,  thereby 
causing  the  thin-legged  youth  to  miss  giving  a  last 
wave  of  his  hand  to  the  man  being  left  behind.  This 
disgruntled  him,  because  he  was  very  fond  of  his 
brother  Paul  and  might  not  see  him  again  for  some 
time. 

3 


4  CASTE  THREE 

Hewitt  Stevenson's  presence  in  the  Pullman  was  not 
due  to  any  desire  to  relieve  himself  of  superfluous 
wealth.  The  extra  charges  engendered  by  his  riding 
in  the  clean,  well-ventilated  car,  undisturbed  by  a  f  ried- 
chicken-and-banana-eating  traveling  public  such  as  is 
informally  at  home  in  a  day-coach,  would  make  a 
disproportionately  large  hole  in  the  small  amount  re- 
maining after  the  purchase  of  a  ticket  from  Chicago 
to  Alston,  Indiana.  Following  his  own  cautious  im- 
pulses, he  would  have  shunned  the  Pullman,  but  Paul 
had  led  him  into  that  section  of  the  train,  deposited  the 
bag  on  a  seat,  and  got  off  without  a  thought,  seemingly, 
of  any  other  course.  He  had,  however,  thought  to 
warn  Hewitt  from  the  platform,  through  a  window 
raised  for  the  purpose,  that  porters  expected  tips  and 
punished  people  who  forgot  to  give  them. 

The  brown  bag  placed  by  Paul  upon  a  seat  was  worn 
off  into  yellow  spots.  It  could  hardly  be  called  a  re- 
spectable bag.  It  looked  like  a  bag  that  had  seen 
hard  service.  And  it  had.  Paul  had  carried  it  when 
he  first  began  to  travel  for  the  wholesale  grocery  firm 
of  Mayer,  Bergstrom  &  Mayer,  Chicago,  U.  S.  A., 
long  before  he  had  been  advanced  to  the  position  of 
city  salesman  for  the  same  firm.  That  had  been  five 
years  before,  but  the  bag  was  thought  good  enough 
for  Hewitt  to  carry  on  this  journey. 

Hewitt  himself  had  been  in  charge  of  the  remainder 
of  his  baggage,  namely,  an  overcoat.  The  overcoat 
had  much  in  common  with  the  bag,  although  it  was  not 
a  remnant  of  Paul's  traveling  days.  It  was  Hewitt's 


CASTE  THREE  5 

own  property.  He  had  not  intended  wearing  it  an- 
other winter,  but  then,  his  plans  for  September  had  not 
included  a  journey  to  Alston,  and  the  morning  when 
he  and  Paul  had  left  the  rooming-house  where  they 
had  lived  for  the  past  five  years  was  chilly  with  the 
breath  of  a  cold  lake  breeze.  So  he  had  carried  the 
coat.  Anyway,  it  could  scarcely  have  been  crowded 
into  the  brown  bag  which  bulged  conspicuously  on  one 
side.  The  bulge  was  the  external  indication  that  at 
the  last  moment  he  had  inserted  two  tennis-balls  which 
were  not  new  but  might  still  be  of  use  if  one  only 
played  tennis  for  exercise.  He  forgot  that  he  had 
left  his  battered  racket  with  Paul.  The  balls  were 
no  evidence  of  Hewitt's  enthusiasm  for  tennis.  He 
played  very  badly.  He  always  objected  to  games  be- 
cause there  were  rules  attached,  and  he  had  a  great 
objection  to  rules.  But  of  course  one  must  exercise, — 
infrequently. 

The  train  sped  away  to  the  south,  and  the  late 
arrival  stood  looking  in  vain  for  a  porter.  He  seemed 
to  expect  the  latter  might  be  concealed  behind  a  seat, 
for  he  continued  to  stand,  though  tossed  from  side  to 
side  by  the  train's  motion,  and  to  look  up  and  down  the 
car  as  though,  Hewitt  thought  cattishly,  he  could  not 
sit  down  until  assisted  by  some  one.  When  the 
porter  did  appear,  he  surprised  the  young  man  by  com- 
ing up  behind  him,  causing  the  passenger  to  start  and 
then  grin  needlessly.  As  he  turned  to  confront  the 
porter  the  grin  deepened,  if  that  were  possible. 

"  Howdy,  Sam,"  said  the  young  man.     "  That 's  my 


6  CASTE  THREE 

bag."  He  pointed  to  a  pretentious  alligator  piece  at 
his  feet. 

"  My  name  ain't  Sam,"  said  the  porter,  presumably 
in  his  native  dialect,  "but  that's  all  right,  Boy. 
Wheh  'd  yuh  wanta  sit?  " 

"  Up  front  here  's  all  right." 

The  young  man  watched  the  colored  servitor  toss 
the  pretentious  bag  into  the  rack  above  a  nearby  seat, 
and  then  proceeded  to  arrange  his  back  and  head  and 
legs  in  the  chair,  much  to  the  surprise  of  the  one  spec- 
tator who  was  capable  of  drawing  conclusions  from 
his  observations.  Hewitt  was  astounded  that  the 
other  was  able  to  arrange  himself  thus  without  aid. 

The  train  moved  swiftly  past  the  lakes,  swampy 
rivers,  woods,  bare  fields,  and  towns  and  villages  that 
succeed  the  smoky  environs  of  Chicago  on  a  journey 
into  Indiana  and  that  make  up  the  scenery  of  the  north- 
ern part  of  that  state.  Hewitt  intermittently  read  a 
Chicago  morning  paper,  was  aware  of  the  lolling  per- 
son in  the  car  with  him,  and  thought.  When  the  items 
in  the  news-sheet  ceased  to  stimulate  his  mental  proc- 
esses, he  followed  the  streams  of  thought  started  by 
some  passing  scene,  although  he  pursued  none  of  these 
to  a  logical  conclusion. 

"  Get  your  lunch  in  the  diner,"  Paul  had  told  him 
at  the  same  moment  that  he  had  reminded  him  of  the 
tip.  "  A  little  extravagance  won't  hurt  you,  and  any- 
way, you  won't  get  into  Alston  until  after  three  o'clock. 
Besides,  you  want  to  demand  such  things  for  your- 
self. Then  you  '11  get  more  in  the  end." 


CASTE  THREE  7 

He  was  relieved  when  the  train  drew  up  at  eleven 
and  his  companion  of  the  Pullman  got  off,  the  obsequi- 
ous porter  following  hard  on  his  heels  with  the  pre- 
tentious alligator-bag.  Hewitt  breathed  more  freely 
after  he  had  seen  the  top  of  the  young  man's  head 
disappear  past  the  window  of  the  moving  train  and 
the  porter  emerge  into  the  car  again.  He  had  n't  much 
liked  that  young  man.  He  was  too  well-dressed,  too 
urbane  with  the  urbanity  of  small  towns,  and  Hewitt 
had  another  thrill  of  that  cattish  variety  afflicting  the 
best  of  people  at  times  when  the  destination  of  the 
objectionable  one  was  seen  to  be  a  mere  village  of 
indescribable  dinginess  set  flamboyantly  on  a  muddy 
river  that  looked  ashamed  of  its  protege. 

An  added  reason  for  anathema  was  that  the  young 
man  had  dozed  during  the  two  hours  from  Chicago. 
He  had  n't  even  had  a  newspaper  or  a  book  to  read. 
He  had  intended  dozing ;  that  was  clear. 

Hewitt  himself  now  folded  his  newspaper  carefully 
and  placed  it  on  top  of  his  bag.  Then  he  pulled  a  soft, 
leather-bound  book  from  his  pocket  and  perused  it 
when  the  monotony  of  the  bare  fields  grew  tiresome. 
The  book  was  Keats'  "  Selected  Poems." 

The  young  man  interrupted  his  reading  of  the  "  Ode 
to  Autumn  "  for  a  moment  when  the  first  call  for  din- 
ner rang  from  the  front  of  the  car.  He  continued  to 
read,  however,  since  he  must  n't  seem  too  anxious 
about  dinner. 

The  second  call  caused  him  to  make  his  way  non- 
chalantly into  the  diner.  At  the  entrance  he  stopped 


8  CASTE  THREE 

and  stamped  lightly,  in  order  to  bring  the  bottom  of 
one  trouser  leg  down  to  its  proper  position  on  his  ankle. 
This  pause  also  emphasized  his  appearance  of  being  en- 
tirely at  his  ease  in  the  face  of  a  dining-car  and  an 
a  la  carte  service.  He  ran  his  fingers  through  his 
pompadour  to  make  sure  that  an  evasive  lock  that 
frequently  was  not  in  place  was  now  submissive.  He 
gained  a  seat  after  being  jerked  from  side  to  side  in  a 
way  to  bring  a  smile  close  to  the  surface.  It  did  not 
come  entirely  to  the  surface,  however.  Hewitt  was 
too  quick  for  it. 

Frankly  expressed,  Hewitt  Stevenson's  idea  of 
travel  was  "  fun,"  but  Hewitt  Stevenson's  age  made 
such  frank  expression  an  impossibility.  He  would 
have  liked  to  leave  the  impression  with  the  two  men 
who  were  already  engaged  with  a  steak  and  its  ac- 
cessories at  the  other  end  of  the  car  that  he  was  a 
trifle  bored  with  this  traveling,  but  that  he  was  deter- 
mined to  be  valiant  in  the  presence  of  a  necessary  evil. 
By  limiting  his  order  to  simpler  dishes,  like  a  club- 
sandwich,  coffee,  and  a  light  dessert,  he  had  enough 
change  left  from  a  dollar  bill  for  the  tip.  He  felt  a 
certain  pride  in  spending  the  entire  dollar  at  one  blow, 
as  it  were,  and  yet  there  was  present  in  him  a  vague 
discontent  with  a  world  which  made  his  acceptance  of 
such  limitations  desirable.  It  was  so  easy  to  imagine 
yourself  luxuriously  the  spender. 

But  his  interest  in  the  flood  of  impressions  pouring 
in  upon  him  distracted  his  attention  from  an  enforced 
but  not  obtrusively  distasteful  poverty. 


CASTE  THREE  g 

If  Hewitt  Stevenson's  soul  could  have  been  exam- 
ined and  analyzed  at  that  date  in  his  development,  what 
would  it  have  revealed? 

Less  than  a  year  later,  when  he  was  writing  poetry 
to,  but  principally  in  secret  about,  Mary  Young,  he 
had  a  tingling  sensation  before  dawn  one  morning  of 
seeing  light,  gray,  shapeless  bubbles,  airy  as  the  mist 
which  lay  over  the  grass  and  interlaced  itself  with  the 
branches  of  nearby  trees,  dancing  back  and  forth  out- 
side his  window.  Only  half-awake,  still  full  of  the 
heaviness  of  sleep,  he  thought  that  one  form,  brighter 
and  airier  than  the  rest,  flung  itself  hither  and  thither 
through  the  half-light.  The  others  followed  it.  That 
gay  piece  of  nothingness,  indescribably  lovely  and 
magnetic,  was  the  soul  of  Mary  Young;  those  gray 
forms  were  the  souls  of  those  Alstonians  who  were  led 
by  Mary  Young. 

If  Hewitt's  soul  of  this  September  day  could  have 
floated  before*  his  eyes,  it,  too,  would  have  been  light, 
gray,  and  bubbly,  light  as  the  mist  which  earlier  in  the 
day  had  lain  over  these  rivers  and  lakes  and  farms  in 
the  northern  part  of  his  native  state.  It  would  have 
been  a  jelly-fish  kind  of  soul.  It  would  not  have  been 
the  firm  little  prejudiced  red  soul  of  his  childhood, 
when  right  and  wrong  were  divided  by  a  strong  line 
and  there  were  no  difficulties  about  greater  and  lesser 
goods;  when  sin  was  sin  and  holiness  was  holiness, 
according  to  the  emphatic  ruling  of  the  Methodist 
church.  Adolescence  and  Chicago  and  contact  with 
men  who  thought  had  changed  all  that.  At  one  mo- 


10  CASTE  THREE 

ment  it  would  have  shown  the  blue  and  gold  of  great 
ideals  and  fine  emotions,  at  another  the  pink  prettiness 
of  trivial  content  with  the  commonplace,  and  at  an- 
other the  brownness  of  dull  dissatisfaction  with  life 
as  it  came  to  him.  In  time  it  might  pass  out  of  this 
jelly-fish  state  and  become  a  permanently  beautiful, 
bright  soul.  It  might  sink  back  into  the  grayness  of 
mist,  the  infinite  from  which  it  took  its  being,  without 
ever  achieving  distinctive  color.  It  might  remain  an 
indefinite  mass,  now  and  again  putting  forth  protuber- 
ances, like  a  one-celled  animal,  to  touch  the  grayness 
of  other  one-celled  souls,  and  then  withdrawing  these 
fingers  into  itself  as  it  became  increasingly  aware  of 
the  great  law  governing  the  essential  aloneness  of  every 
soul.  Being  the  essence  of  Hewitt  Stevenson,  it 
would  never  long  remain  the  same.  It  was  a  groping 
soul,  reaching  and  retreating,  expanding  and  depress- 
ing. Beauty,  in  another  age  and  amid  other  souls 
intent  upon  the  discovery  of  the  beautiful,  would  have 
been  its  law.  In  the  great  Middle  West,  in  that  ex- 
panse of  fertile  country  extending  from  the  Appalachi- 
ans to  the  mighty  Mississippi,  that  land  watered  by 
innumerable  streams,  covered  with  growing  grain  in 
long,  hot  summers,  with  woods  and  vigorous  cities 
and  a  network  of  railroads  and  traction  lines  —  what 
then  of  the  soul  of  Hewitt  Stevenson? 

During  the  hours  between  his  luncheon  and  his  ar- 
rival in  Alston,  Hewitt  was  not  at  all  concerned  with 
his  soul.  He  might  think  about  it,  certainly.  He 
might  listen  to  Letsky,  the  young  Jewish  radical  who 


CASTE  THREE  n 

had  been  in  the  habit  of  haranguing  violently  and  at 
length  at  the  back  of  Woody's  book-store,  speak  on 
the  subject  of  the  soul  in  general,  although  Letsky  had 
such  a  supply  of  sociological  knowledge  that  the  soul 
was  likely  to  be  relegated  to  old  age  and  elderly  Brown- 
ing societies  and  ministers  of  the  gospel  for  discussion. 
But  in  September  of  the  year  of  our  Lord  nineteen 
hundred  and  twelve  you  could  not  have  persuaded  him 
to  talk  of  his  own  soul. 

"  Next  stop,  Alston !  Next  stop,  Alston !  "  called  a 
voice  from  the  front  of  the  car.  This  was  later  in  the 
afternoon,  when  the  landscape  had  begun  to  pall  and 
traveling  had  become  less  zestful  than  the  young  man 
had  at  first  thought  it. 

Hewitt  immediately  became  afraid  that  he  would 
not  be  ready  when  Alston  was  reached  and  that  the 
fast  train  speeding  over  the  level  stretch  of  central 
Indiana  would  hurry  on  without  depositing  him  on  the 
Alston  platform,  the  goal  of  his  journey.  He  reached 
for  his  overcoat  and  cap  in  the  rack  above  and  shifted 
uneasily  in  his  seat,  leaning  forward  to  regard  the 
rolling  prairie-farms  prominently  decorated  with  large 
cylindrical  silos,  white  farmhouses  of  varying  degrees 
of  pretentiousness,  and  enormous  barns  of  unvarying 
pretentiousness. 

"Brush?" 

Hewitt  obediently  stood  up,  with  the  feeling  that 
porterly  attentions  were,  after  all,  a  matter  of  payment 
and  that  his  money  was  as  efficacious  in  securing  serv- 
ice as  another's.  He  stamped  again  to  push  down  the 


12  CASTE  THREE 

elusive  trouser  leg  that  had  before  shown  a  tendency 
to  cling  to  his  calf.  He  dropped  some  small  change 
into  the  hand  of  his  black  temporary  retainer  and  had 
his  bag  deposited  at  the  door. 

Hewitt  had  expected  to  be  met  by  Grace  or  his 
father.  When  you  have  been  in  Chicago  for  five 
years,  absent  from  the  bosom  of  your  family,  you 
naturally  expect  to  be  met  at  a  railway  station.  Be- 
sides, the  bosom  of  his  particular  family  had  not  re- 
sided in  Alston  when  the  youngest  son  and  brother 
had  left  for  the  large  city  of  the  lakes.  He  was  a 
stranger  in  this  town. 

The  station  was  manifestly  an  inadequate  and  soon- 
to-be-discarded  structure,  if  one  were  to  judge  by  the 
piles  of  "  dressed  "  stone  which  loomed  up  from  the 
farther  end  and  an  expression  of  "  My  time  is  done ; 
long  live  the  king!  "  on  the  part  of  the  building  itself. 
This  expression  was  the  result  of  the  position  of  a 
bay-window,  two  doors,  and  the  platform,  all  of  which 
made  one  think  of  a  nose,  two  eyes,  and  a  forlorn 
mouth,  the  last  being  responsible  for  its  forlornity  to 
a  sloping  downward  of  itself  into  runways. 

A  taxi  chugged  in  solitary  spinsterhood  at  the  end 
of  the  station,  its  driver  nowhere  in  sight,  but  possibly 
frequenting  the  saloon  across  the  way.  A  baggage- 
man ran  a  truck  hurriedly  down  the  platform  to  re- 
ceive some  trunks,  crates,  and  boxes  from  the  train. 
The  day-coaches  ejected  a  tousled,  weeping  boy,  three 
fussily  dressed  women,  and  a  traveling  salesman  (to 
judge  from  a  spick-and-spanness  of  apparel  and  a  con- 


CASTE  THREE  13 

temptuousness  of  mouth)  who  wanted  to  go  on  to 
Indianapolis  but  couldn  't  on  account  of  the  demands 
of  business. 

"  Fourteenth  and  Jackson,"  Hewitt  read  in  a  note- 
book he  took  from  his  pocket. 

So  this  was  Alston,  Indiana;  population  thirty-five 
thousand  or  thereabouts!  The  figures  held  little  sig- 
nificance for  one  who  had  gone  directly  to  Chicago 
from  the  farm  at  the  age  of  fifteen.  To  the  Chicago- 
bred,  Alston  was  a  small  town  or  village.  That  it  ex- 
isted at  all  was  of  small  interest  to  the  busy  places  of 
the  globe,  unless,  of  course,  your  family  adopted  it  as 
a  place  of  residence.  Then  its  existence  was  reluc- 
tantly admitted. 

Down  the  center  of  the  wide  street  running  north 
and  south  from  the  station  extended  a  single  street- 
car track,  and  as  Hewitt  made  his  way  in  the  direction 
indicated  by  a  mumbling,  tobacco-chewing  baggage- 
man, a  small  electric-car  clanged  and  jerked  its  way 
to  the  south,  followed  by  a  traction  car  of  greater  un- 
wieldiness  and  more  dignity.  A  large  building  hous- 
ing a  wholesale  grocers'  firm  stood  opposite  the  sta- 
tion. Numerous  small  business-houses, —  drugstores, 
bicycle  repair-shops,  second-hand  clothing  and  furni- 
ture stores,  and  restaurants, —  lined  Meridian  Street  on 
each  side  as  he  walked  on  for  two  or  three  blocks, 
before  the  larger  buildings  appeared  to  tell  him  that 
he  was  approaching  the  center  of  the  business  section. 

A  department-store  occupied  the  first  floor  of  a  ten- 
story  office-building  on  a  corner  where  tracks  from 


14  CASTE  THREE 

east  and  west  crossed  those  that  Hewitt  had  already 
noticed.  There  was  a  majesty  about  the  ten  stories 
of  this  particular  building,  because  of  the  contrast  be- 
tween it  and  its  lower  and  older  neighbors.  An  "  in- 
terurban  "  crowded  with  passengers,  even  on  the  rear 
platform,  rumbled  north  on  the  main  street. 

Hewitt  was  half-inclined  to  be  surprised  at  the  num- 
ber of  people  who  moved  past  him  as  he  stood  in  front 
of  the  department-store,  his  bag  on  the  pavement  at 
his  feet.  A  clean,  plate-glass-windowed  bank,  a  drug- 
store teeming  with  customers,  and  a  cigar-store  filled 
with  men  and  boys,  occupied  the  three  corners  of  the 
intersecting  streets.  "  Eleventh,"  he  read  on  a  cross- 
street  sign.  Farther  along  Meridian  Street  another 
department-store  of  four  stories,  painted  white  and 
marked  on  top  in  high,  wire  letters  "  The  White 
House,"  drew  his  attention  as  he  walked  across  the 
street,  and  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  dirty  gray-stone 
court-house,  surrounded  by  a  green  lawn  and  a  stone 
coping  lined  with  idlers,  in  the  center  of  the  "  Square  " 
several  blocks  to  the  north. 

Hewitt  entered  the  drug-store  for  a  supplement  to 
the  indefinite  help  of  his  previous  director.  A  group 
of  youths  in  no  way  different  from  a  thousand  other 
youths  in  ready-to-wear  garb  whom  Hewitt  had  been 
wont  to  pass  every  day  on  the  streets  of  Chicago  en- 
circled the  cigar-counter  and  the  soda-fountain  inside. 
They  looked  the  newcomer  over, —  those  who  were 
not  otherwise  engaged, —  with  no  curiosity,  exhibiting 
no  change  in  the  content  and  self -sufficiency  of  their 


CASTE  THREE  15 

attitude.  He  was  not  so  well-dressed  as  they  and  was 
evidently  a  stranger,  to  judge  from  a  bag  and  a  folded 
overcoat  which  the  September  afternoon  did  not 
demand. 

The  young  man's  inquiry  for  Fourteenth  and  Jack- 
son streets  brought  instructions  about  getting  there. 
"  A  block  west  to  the  post-office  and  then  three  blocks 
south,"  said  the  girl  in  charge  of  the  cigar-counter. 
She  was  courteous,  but  as  uninterested  as  the  young 
males  around  her. 

Not  that  Hewitt  was  annoyed  or  more  than  cog- 
nizant of  this  indifference  of  Alston,  Indiana,  to  his 
presence  in  its  midst.  He  was  a  young  man  of  some 
intellectual  prestige  in  that  part  of  Chicago  dominated 
by  an  intellectual  ideal.  He  was  not,  himself,  con- 
cerned with  drug-store  loafers,  or  even  habitues.  He 
had  come  to  Alston  because  an  urgent  letter  from  his 
father  and  a  long  talk  with  his  brother  Paul  had  con- 
vinced him  that  such  a  move  might  be  wisdom. 
Therefore  he  thanked  the  girl  and  started  to  go. 

"  Heh,  Canby !  "  shouted  a  tall,  thin  youth  from  the 
front  of  the  store,  and  he  shot  down  the  tiled  floor 
in  pursuit  of  a  plump  boy  who  was  in  the  act  of  swiftly 
and  surreptitiously  escorting  a  girl  out  by  the  side 
door.  "  Heh,  I  Ve  got  a  date  with  Helen !  " 

The  plump  one  did  not  pause,  but  hastened  his  foot- 
steps and  fairly  leaping  into  an  automobile  at  the 
curb,  was  in  the  act  of  driving  off  when  his  nimble 
pursuer  jumped  on  the  running-board  and  grabbed  the 
girl  by  the  arm. 


16  CASTE  THREE 

"  I  've  got  a  date  with  Helen  myself,  you  boob !  " 
the  latter  continued  to  aver.  "  Stop  that  car,  you 
sneak  thief !  " 

Hewitt,  walking  toward  the  post-office,  was  a  spec- 
tator of  this  trouble  over  the  eternal  feminine.  He 
smiled  to  himself  when  the  plump  boy  in  possession 
gave  a  hard  push  which  dislodged  the  raging  thin  one 
from  his  position  and  sent  him  flying  at  a  run  back  to 
the  drug-store  under  the  momentum  gathered  in  his 
quick  and  unexpected  step  to  the  pavement.  Hewitt 
could  hear  the  laughs  of  the  witnesses  of  this  unhappy 
ending,  who  had  hurried  out  of  the  drug-store  to  watch 
it. 

The  young  man  realized,  on  going  south  along  a 
street  marked  Jackson,  that  he  was  practically  retrac- 
ing his  steps  to  the  station,  although  this  street  was 
lined  not  with  business  places,  but  with  pleasant  resi- 
dences,—  well-lawned  abodes  in  front  of  which  chil- 
dren were  playing  on  roller-skates. 

At  Twelfth  Street  a  stone  Methodist  church  of  some 
distinction  stood  next  to  a  house  built  of  the  same  ma- 
terial. It  was  evidently  a  parsonage.  A  pretty,  dark- 
haired  girl,  arrayed  in  a  trim  suit  and  small  hat, 
walked  from  the  door  of  the  latter,  got  into  a  pony- 
cart,  and  drove  away,  waving  her  hand  to  two  women 
who  were  emerging  from  the  church. 

There  were  three  houses  on  the  various  corners  of 
Fourteenth  and  Jackson  streets,  but  Hewitt  had  no 
trouble  in  selecting  his  father's.  It  was  the  kind  of 
house  he  expected  his  father  to  live  in.  It  was  a  brick 


CASTE  THREE  17 

structure  of  that  type  erected  in  the  Middle  West 
during  the  mid-nineteenth  century.  From  the  front, 
—  at  an  earlier  day  when  the  iron  railings  of  the  nar- 
row front  veranda  were  not  rusted  and  broken  and 
when  the  lightning-rod  rising  straight  and  high,  with 
balls  and  curly-cues,  had  been  an  affair  to  congratulate 
the  owner  upon, —  the  house  must  have  been  consid- 
ered an  imposing  addition  to  the  residence  section  of 
a  young  but  growing  Alston.  It  rose  two  stories  — 
tall  stories  that  told  of  enormously  high  ceilings 
within.  But  from  the  side  one  saw  the  falseness  of 
the  front's  promise.  The  remainder  of  the  house 
wandered  back  indefinitely,  being  one  story  and  roofed 
with  slate,  and  it  ended  in  a  frame  summer  kitchen 
which  seemed  to  cling  helplessly  to  its  brother-  rooms. 

For  five  years  the  inhabitant  of  a  city  whose  typical 
form  in  architecture  is  the  brick  or  stone  or  stone- 
veneered  apartment-building,  Hewitt  was  not  critical 
of  the  architecture  of  the  house  of  his  father's  selec- 
tion. He  merely  designated  it,  upon  first  glance,  as 
ugly,  and  he  lumped  its  defects  in  the  cover-all  term, 
"  old-fashioned." 

A  straggly  lawn,  with  a  gnarled  apple-tree  too  old 
to  bear  fruit,  lay  around  the  house.  A  coal-yard  was. 
seen  to  lie  between  it  and  the  railroad,  concealed  par- 
tially from  view  by  a  high  board  fence.  Hewitt  felt 
a  strong  hatred  well  up  in  him  against  the  house's 
surroundings.  Dirty!  Ugly!  And  to  his  twenty 
years  the  latter  word  conveyed  an  immense  heap  of 
opprobrium  upon  anything.  An  open  lot  opposite  was 


i8  CASTE  THREE 

laid  out  in  tennis-courts  which  could  not,  certainly, 
conceal  the  rear  of  the  buildings  facing  on  Meridian 
Street, —  an  expanse  of  dirty  doorways,  piles  of  bar- 
rels, rusted  fire-escapes,  and  piles  of  paper. 

The  young  man  opened  the  door  into  the  brick  house 
hurriedly.  After  all,  despite  the  lapse  which  not  being 
met  at  the  station  hinted  at,  he  had  not  seen  his  father, 
his  grandfather,  or  Grace  for  five  years,  and  his  inter- 
est in  them,  which  had  waned  in  the  interim,  revived 
as  he  swung  open  the  door. 

"  Hello,  everybody !  "  he  called,  and  started  through 
the  living-room. 

A  figure,  scarcely  discernible  in  the  semi-twilight  of 
the  darkened  room,  moved  from  its  position  over  the 
register  of  a  hot-air  furnace.  The  room  was  very 
warm,  it  seemed  to  Hewitt,  fresh  from  the  September 
sunshine  outside. 

"  Hello,  grandpa !  "  he  said. 

"How-do,  Hewie?"  answered  a  weak  voice. 
"Home?" 

You  might  have  thought  from  the  words  of  the  list- 
less, cracked- voiced,  old  man  that  Hewitt  had  been 
away  for  the  morning. 

"  Does  n't  seem  exactly  like  home  to  me,"  the  boy 
said,  shaking  the  trembling  hand  his  grandfather  held 
out  to  him. 

"  We  've  moved  since  you  was  home,  hain't 
we?" 

Hewitt  walked  out  through  the  dining-room,  con- 
taining a  heavy  sideboard  of  intricate  carving  with  a 


CASTE  THREE  19 

streaked  old  mirror  in  the  back,  a  heavy  oak  table  with 
chairs  to  match,  and  a  yellow  plush  "  lounge,"  into  the 
kitchen.  This  looked  more  like  the  old  farm-house, 
this  spotlessness  of  stove  and  table  and  cupboard. 
Even  the  cat  sitting  in  the  doorway  wanted  to  become 
cleaner  than  any  other  cat  in  the  world  and  went  about 
accomplishing  that  end  with  a  gusto  which  it  inter- 
rupted to  glance  up  at  the  new  entrant.  Immediately, 
however,  it  resumed  operations  on  the  next  paw.  A 
young  man  must  not  be  allowed  to  think  that  his  ar- 
rival at  home  after  a  five  years'  absence  made  any  dif- 
ference in  the  conduct  of  life  among  the  resident 
householders.  The  cat's  attitude  was  one  of  supreme 
indifference  to  all  departures  and  arrivals,  a  feline  self- 
content  not  to  be  pricked  by  any  returning  son,  prodi- 
gal or  puritan. 

Grace  was  in  the  summer  kitchen  building  a  fire  of 
kindling  and  small  pieces  of  coal.  At  the  sound  of 
footsteps  she,  too,  turned  to  glance  at  the  newcomer, 
and  then,  like  the  cat,  returned  to  her  labor. 

"  Hello,  Hewie ! "  she  essayed,  with  marked  pla- 
cidity. 

"  Hello,"  Hewitt  vouchsafed. 

He  was  half-discomfitted  by  the  matter-of-factness 
with  which  his  family  was  taking  his  reentrance  into 
their  bosom.  He  knew  that  people  died  and  were  bur- 
ied without  the  occurrence  drawing  a  single  sign  of 
strong  feeling  from  the  Stevensons,  but  somehow  he 
had  expected  his  arrival  to  create  more  of  a  stir  than 
death, —  a  death  outside  the  family. 


20  CASTE  THREE 

"  I  'm  going  to  bake,"  said  Grace,  continuing  to  lay 
the  chips  of  coal  on  the  wood  in  the  low  stove. 

Hewitt  had  intended  to  kiss  Grace.  He  had  felt 
that  the  emotional  impregnability  of  the  home-staying 
section  of  the  Stevenson  family  was  unsatisfactory  and 
not  up  to  new  ideals  of  family  affection  which  he  had 
formed  in  Chicago  from  observation  of  other  families. 
Mr.  Woody  always  kissed  Mrs.  Woody  every  time  he 
went  home  from  the  book-store,  and  although  a  sister 
was  not  a  wife,  of  course,  a  kiss  was  not  here  amiss,  so 
to  speak. 

But  he  did  not  kiss  Grace.  He  picked  up  some 
scraps  of  wood  from  the  floor  and  took  charge  of  the 
fire,  instead. 

"  Here,  I  '11  do  that.  You  go  ahead  and  attend  to 
your  bread  or  pies  or  whatever  you  're  making." 

Grace  glanced  at  him  inquiringly.  The  Hewitt  of 
five  years  before  had  grown  up,  she  understood.  He 
did  not  look  at  all  like  Paul,  whose  curly  hair  and 
ready  smile  Grace  had  always  thought  very  becoming 
to  a  young  man.  Indeed,  Paul  was  rather  the  family 
favorite,  perhaps  because  of  his  long  sojourn  among 
other  tribes.  He  was  to  Grace  as  near  an  ideal  of 
manly  beauty  as  she  would  ever  develop.  She  had 
never  had  any  "  young  man  "  of  her  own,  and  Paul 
had  been  accustomed  to  steal  up  to  pull  her  hair,  to 
pin  up  her  dress  in  ludicrous  folds,  or  to  pinch  her 
plump  arms  at  unexpected  moments  in  a  way  that 
pleased  her  immensely,  even  while  she  pretended  to  be 
greatly  chagrined.  Paul  had  a  way  about  him,  while 


CASTE  THREE  21 

Hewitt  had  always  been  more  serious.  Also,  the  lat- 
ter's  gray  eyes,  large,  long-lashed,  almost  blurred  by 
dark  lashes,  and  with  a  dreamy  look  in  them  which  one 
did  not  associate  with  the  Stevenson  side  of  the  family, 
were  in  annoying  contrast  to  his  dark  hair,  worn  a 
trifle  long  and  combed  back  smoothly  from  his  fore- 
head, although  it  did  not  always  stay  back  for  long. 
In  fact,  there  was  one  strand  which  habitually  fell  over 
his  right  temple,  giving  him  a  wild  and  unkempt  ap- 
pearance. 

"  Hewie  was  always  all  eyes,"  Grace  thought  to  her- 
self, "  but  they  look  kind  o'  funny  now  with  his  hair, 
since  it 's  turned  darker.  It  seems  like  his  eyes  ought 
to  be  darker,  too."  She  thus  dispensed  with  the  fea- 
ture which  was  his  chief  claim  to  beauty.  She  also 
noticed  his  extreme  length  of  leg  with  disapproval. 
Paul  was  shorter  and  heavier  in  proportion,  more 
manly.  This  length  made  Hewitt  look  awkward  and 
thin.  She  remembered  with  a  sort  of  pride,  however, 
while  disparaging  his  right  to  be  called  a  handsome 
young  man,  that  her  grandfather  on  her  mother's  side 
had  often  been  said  to  resemble  "  Honest  Abe " 
Lincoln  in  appearance.  Hewitt  would  have  to  drink 
lots  of  milk  and  eat  potatoes  while  he  was  home. 
Then,  maybe,  his  eyes  would  n't  look  so  important. 

"  Where  's  father  ?  "  Hewitt  asked,  when  he  had  fin- 
ished with  the  fire. 

"  Out  at  the  farm.  He  's  been  like  a  chicken  with 
its  head  off  ever  since  we  moved  over  here,  and 
grandpa  and  I  got  him  to  buy  twenty  acres  of  garden- 


22  CASTE  THREE 

land  out  here  five  miles.  He  drives  out  every  day. 
He  does  more  work  on  it  than  the  man  he  's  rented  it 
to  on  shares.  He  's  never  been  just  satisfied,  Hewie, 
since  we  sold  out."  Grace  frowned  and  turned  the 
drafts  of  the  stove  to  heat  the  oven.  "  But  where  we 
could  n't  get  him  to  read  a  farm-journal  ten  years  ago, 
—  maybe  there  were  n't  so  many  then, —  now  he  wants 
to  take  up  every  new  notion  that  comes  out  in  that  big 
'  weekly  '  on  gardening.  I  never  saw  his  beat !  " 

Hewitt  moved  away  from  the  stove.  The  heat 
poured  out  in  a  volume. 

"  I  guess  that  will  burn,"  he  said. 

"  It 's  all  right.  You  run  and  look  at  the  rest  of  the 
house.  You  've  never  been  in  it  before,  have  you?  " 

He  selected  a  peeled  apple  from  the  pile  in  the  pan 
on  the  table  and  set  off  on  a  tour  of  inspection. 

"  Cold,  grandpa?  "  he  asked  his  grandfather  in  pass- 
ing. 

The  old  man  blinked  uncertainly  and  turned  his  eyes 
toward  Hewitt. 

"  Perty  cold  for  September.  Used  to  have  warm 
Septembers  in  Indiana,  but  here  lately  they  've  been 
getting  colder.  I  s'pose  the  'lectricity  in  the  tele- 
phones and  interurbans  and  lights  makes  a  difference 
in  the  atmosphere." 

He  dropped  back  in  his  chair  and  fell  to  dozing 
again. 

Hewitt  ventured  no  farther  than  the  door  leading 
into  the  "  parlor."  Its  stiff  cleanliness  Was  not  invit- 
ing. It  resembled  the  parlor  of  the  farm-house  where 


CASTE  THREE  23 

he  had  lived  until  he  was  fifteen.  In  that  far-off  child- 
hood he  had  never  been  comfortable  in  a  single  one 
of  the  horsehair-covered,  large,  respectable  chairs. 
He  had  tried  them  one  by  one  on  the  various  occasions 
when  a  funeral,  the  visit  of  a  successful  relative,  or 
that  of  the  minister  had  caused  the  damp,  unheated 
parlor  to  be  opened  for  living  purposes.  A  red  ingrain 
carpet  was  on  the  floor.  A  "  stand,"  marble-topped 
and  holding  a  Bible  used  only  for  birth  and  death 
statistics  and  a  limp-leather  gift  edition  of  "  Lucile," 
stood  in  one  corner.  Hewitt  remembered  that  a  neigh- 
bor-girl had  long  before  given  that  latter  piece  of  airy 
literature  to  Paul  for  Christmas.  She  had  selected  it, 
Paul  had  told  him,  for  the  beauty  of  the  binding, 
rather  than  for  the  artistry  of  its  poetic  expres- 
sion. 

The  ceiling  fulfilled  the  promise  of  the  exterior  of 
the  house.  It  was  extraordinarily  high,  and  the  elec- 
tric-light wires,  extending  from  one  corner  to  the  mid- 
dle of  it,  hung  down  and  ended  in  an  unshaded  bulb. 
A  bay-window  looking  to  the  south  held  two  thrifty 
ferns  in  bright  colored  jardinieres  and  a  rubber-plant 
similarly  potted.  A  begonia,  covered  with  pink,  waxy 
blossoms,  stood  on  the  window-sill,  being  partially 
concealed  by  the  long,  heavy  lace  curtains  with  their 
elaborate  design  of  intertwined  poppies  in  heavy  white 
thread. 

Hewitt  moved  on  into  the  first  floor  bed-rooms. 
They  contained  old-fashioned  oak  furniture  —  broad 
beds  covered  with  snow  white  "  spreads  "  and  headed 


24  CASTE  THREE 

by  round  bolsters,  high,  marble-topped  bureaus,  and 
the  same  heavy  lace  curtains. 

"Been  upstairs?"  Grace  asked,  when  he  emerged 
into  the  kitchen  again.  "  Kind  o'  nice,  is  n't  it?  You 
can  have  the  north  room  upstairs,  Hewie.  I  Ve  al- 
ways had  the  south.  It 's  pleasanter,  but  I  'd  'a'  had 
to  change  all  my  things." 

"  Change  ?  I  should  say  not !  The  north  one  suits 
me." 

"How'd  you  like  high  school?"  Grace  asked,  as 
she  pared  the  dough  from  the  edge  of  a  pie  she  was 
finishing. 

Hewitt  stopped. 

"  I  liked  it.     I  'm  glad  I  went." 

"  You  were  n't  so  much  older  than  the  rest  of  the 
boys,  were  you  ?  I  thought  you  would  n't  be.  You 
were  always  bright  in  the  country  school." 

"  Nineteen  is  about  the  average  for  graduation,  and 
I  'm  twenty." 

"  I  'm  glad  you  went.  An  education  is  something 
nobody  can  take  away  from  you.  You  might  unpack 
your  trunk  before  father  comes,  if  you  think  you  '11 
stay  for  a  while.  Oh,  they  did  n't  bring  it  from  the 
station,  did  they?  " 

"  I  just  brought  a  bag,"  he  explained. 

"You're  going  back  to  Chicago,  are  you?"  she 
asked  quickly,  but  resumed  her  work  on  the  pie  imme- 
diately. There  was  a  hint  of  consternation  in  her 
stopping  her  work  for  a  second  which  seeped  into 
Hewitt's  consciousness,  dulled  where  his  family's  feel- 


CASTE  THREE  2$ 

ings  were  concerned  but  grown  more  acute  by  reason 
of  his  long  absence.  He  watched  her  with  a  faint 
furtiveness  in  his  eyes  as  she  padded  back  and  forth 
from  the  kitchen  to  its  summer  substitute. 

Grace  was  of  that  fair-skinned,  reddish-haired  type 
which  is  flabbily  heavy  and  abounds  in  forehead  and 
dim,  almost  indistinguishable,  freckles.  Her  plump 
white  hands  and  her  white  wide  forehead  always 
seemed  about  to  break  out  into  a  perspiration,  but 
never  did.  Hewitt  noticed  this  trait  about  her  now. 
There  had  been  a  time  in  his  boyhood  when  he  had 
thought  Grace  pretty,  but  her  pale  eyes  and  porous  skin 
gave  him  a  different  impression  now.  Despite  the  new 
note  of  sympathy  and  self -stimulated  affection  for  his 
family,  born  of  a  conviction  that  one  should  have  that 
sort  of  feeling  for  one's  blood  relatives,  he  found  him- 
self being  critical  of  her  "  doughiness,"  as  he  mentally 
and  involuntarily  referred  to  her  plump  softness. 

His  outward  expression  of  this  notice  of  her 
"  doughiness,"  however,  was  limited  to  a  straightening 
of  his  thin  shoulders  and  a  setting  of  his  jaw,  already 
firm  beyond  the  requirements  of  manly  distinction. 
These  movements  were  performed  with  a  vague  idea 
of  fighting  an  unwelcome  family  inheritance,  although 
upon  further  thought  he  was  able  to  remember  that 
he  favored  his  mother,  a  nervous,  energetic  woman 
prone  to  alternate  between  strenuous  bursts  of  energy 
and  a  silent,  undemonstrative  moodiness.  She  had 
guided  not  only  her  own  life,  but  had  set  her  mark 
upon  her  husband  and  her  offspring. 


26  CASTE  THREE 

Hewitt  and  Paul  looked  more  like  their  mother's 
side  of  the  family,  Charles  Stevenson  had  always  said 
with  pride.  He  admired  the  deceased  Mrs.  Stevenson 
with  increasing  fervor  as  the  years  following  her  death 
grew  more  numerous.  He  had  given  her  a  loyal 
admiration,  although  too  little  monetary  sign  of  it, 
while  she  was  yet  alive  and  engaged  in  directing  the 
affairs  of  the  farm-household  in  a  way  to  make  possi- 
ble his  financial  success.  He  often  referred  now  to 
her  power  of  "  managing  things." 

In  reply  to  Grace's  questions  about  his  intention  of 
returning  to  Chicago,  Hewitt  told  her  that  he  wanted 
to  talk  to  his  father  before  he  could  be  sure.  The  fur- 
tiveness  in  his  glance,  veiled  and  unacknowledged,  was 
due  to  his  recognition  that  she  might  want  him  to  stay 
at  home,  whether  or  not  his  father  acquiesced  to  his 
plans.  He  did  n't  want  to  stay  long  in  Alston,  he  was 
sure,  although  he  knew  he  had  better  follow  Paul's 
advice. 

"Do  you  like  the  girl  Paul's  going  to  marry?" 
asked  his  sister  above  the  noise  of  the  slamming  oven- 
door. 

"  Yes.  She 's  awfully  pretty.  Her  father  has 
some  money,  too.  He  's  a  manufacturer." 

"  That 's  what  Paul  said  in  his  letter." 

"  He  makes  metal  novelties." 

"  That 's  what  Paul  said." 

"  They  're  going  to  live  up  on  the  north  side  in  a 
nice  apartment.  Sun-parlor  in  it,  and  sleeping  porch, 
and  so  on." 


CASTE  THREE  27 

Grace  stopped  in  the  doorway  to  look  at  him  as  he 
said  this. 

"How  much  rent?"  she  asked,  resolutely  deter- 
mined to  know  and  judge  the  girl  of  Paul's  selection. 

"  Fifty  or  sixty,  I  think." 

His  sister  closed  her  mouth  to  show  her  opinion  of 
Paul's  prospective  wife. 

"  It  would  have  been  better  if  Paul  had  waited  and 
helped  you  through  college  before  he  got  married,"  she 
said. 

"  I  did  n't  want  him  to.  He  's  done  enough  for  me 
the  way  it  is.  He  would  n't  have  got  that  girl  if  he  'd 
had  to  wait  even  a  year  to  help  me.  She  had  lots  of 
men  who  liked  her." 

"  She  'd  have  waited  for  Paul  if  she  'd  thought 
enough  of  him." 

"  May  be.  You  see,  though,  a  man  has  to  step 
lively  to  get  a  girl  like  that.  She  liked  Paul  especially 
because  she  said  he  was  intelligent.  Paul  reads  a  good 
deal.  He  wants  money,  but  he  knows  there  are  a  lot 
of  other  things  in  the  world,  too.  Paul  could  talk  as 
well  as  the  university  men  who  boarded  at  the  same 
place  we  did." 

This  unusual  length  of  comment  on  Hewitt's  part 
to  a  member  of  his  family  exhausted  his  conversational 
facilities,  and  he  wandered  out  into  the  back-yard  and 
around  through  the  long,  uneven  grass  to  the  front 
veranda.  He  whistled  softly  an  air  which  had  risen 
above  the  Chicago  noises  during  the  summer,  without 
realizing  that  he  was  throwing  his  esthetic  musical 


28  CASTE  THREE 

taste  to  the  winds  by  doing  so.  But  even  whistling 
could  not  entirely  drive  away  the  queer  faint-hearted- 
ness  which  was  closing  in  upon  him  as  the  sun  dropped 
lower  and  late  afternoon,  with  its  melancholy  sugges- 
tion of  other  late  afternoons  in  pleasanter  surround- 
ings amid  congenial  companionship,  passed  gradually 
into  early  evening.  He  kept  watching  the  neglected 
tennis-courts,  the  board  fence  about  the  coal-yard,  and 
the  shabby  cottages  across  the  way,  with  a  growing 
hatred  for  such  ugliness.  In  Chicago  he  had  never 
been  so  depressed  by  the  same  type  of  ugliness,  perhaps 
because  he  had  never  felt  responsible  for  it.  Here  he 
did.  His  family  had  selected  this  house  with  its  dingy 
outlook.  He  did  n't  like  it.  Why  had  n't  they  rented 
a  place  farther  up  on  Jackson  Street,  one  of  the  clean, 
newer  residences  he  had  passed  in  coming  from  the 
drug-store  ? 

He  wished  just  then  that  he  and  Paul  were  sitting 
on  a  bench  in  Jackson  Park,  watching  the  bathers,  and 
the  breakers  a  windy  day  like  this  always  brought 
out.  Or  that  they  were  walking  down  Woodlawn, 
"Brains'  Row,"  toward  the  Midway.  Or  that  they 
were  just  sitting  talking  on  the  veranda  of  the  board- 
ing-house. 


CHAPTER  II 

AT  dinner  Hewitt  saw  less  use  in  being  sorry  for 
himself  and  regained  his  normal  youthful  atti- 
tude of  acceptance.  His  father,  more  restless  and  with 
the  lines  about  his  mouth  and  eyes  grown  deeper  after 
five  years,  aided  in  this  process  of  acclimatization  as 
did  also  the  hot  dinner  cooked  with  the  culinary  skill 
handed  down  from  mother  to  daughter  on  the  farms 
of  the  Middle  West. 

Charles  Stevenson  examined  his  son  with  eyes  which 
four  years  of  retirement  from  active  farming  had  in- 
tensified, curiously  enough.  If  he  had  expected  to  see 
a  too  precise  fop  issue  from  the  supposed  sophistica- 
tion of  four  years  in  a  city  he  was  disappointed. 
Hewitt  still  had  the  naturalness  of  his  childhood,  was 
still  wholesome.  He  had  developed,  it  is  true,  a  refine- 
ment of  speech  from  which  he  often  dropped  back, 
in  the  presence  of  this  new-found  portion  of  his  family, 
into  Hoosierisms.  He  pronounced  the  "  i  "  in  "  it " 
with  an  un-Hoosierly  precision  which  his  father  no- 
ticed and  resented,  and  his  "  a  "  was  less  flat  than  a 
native's.  But  his  carelessness  of  clothing,  the  ex- 
ceptions being  his  cleanness  of  shirt  and  collar  and 
his  shininess  of  shoes,  made  up  for  these  assumed 

29 


30  CASTE  THREE 

differences  in  speech,  his  father  thought.  He  was 
not  so  well-dressed  as  Paul  had  been  on  his  infrequent 
visits  home. 

Hewitt,  also,  did  not  exaggerate  his  care  in  table- 
manners,  as  his  father  half -expected.  Mr.  Stevenson 
had  been  prepared  to  emphasize  his  own  indifference 
to  a  city  code  of  etiquette  by  leaving  his  spoon  in  his 
cup  while  he  drank,  although  in  previous  years  this 
had  brought  a  storm  of  protest  from  Grace.  He  had 
no  intention  of  being  cowed  by  the  superiorities  of  a 
son  who  had  recently  been  graduated  from  a  Chicago 
high  school,  and  so  endowed  with  the  prestige  such  a 
course  gave. 

The  grandfather  regarded  his  descendant  with  curi- 
osity, now  that  he  was  entirely  awake  and  warmed  by 
dinner. 

"  That  Sears  Roebuck  is  a  fine  store  in  Chicago, 
ain't  it?"  he  queried. 

"Ever  buy  anything  there?"  Hewitt  asked,  with 
great  good  humor. 

"  No,  not  yet.  We  're  going  to,  though.  There  's 
a  good  lawn-mower  in  the  catalogue.  Your  father 
says  maybe  he  '11  get  one  in  the  spring.  I  could  cut 
the  grass." 

"  How  's  Paul  ?  "  Charles  Stevenson  inquired. 

"  He  's  fine.  He  's  going  to  marry  a  nice  girl  this 
fall." 

There  was  silence  while  Grace  cut  some  meat  into 
fine  bits  for  her  grandfather.  Then  Charles  Stevenson 
abruptly  introduced  the  subject  of  the  garden  farm. 


CASTE  THREE  31 

"  I  Ve  got  a  little  garden  patch  five  miles  out,"  he 
said.  "  We  '11  go  out  to-morrow  and  look  it  over. 
Nothing  much  left  now,  but  it 's  good  ground.  I  'm 
fertilizing  and  rotating  crops." 

"  That 's  the  idea,"  Hewitt  managed  to  say  with 
some  enthusiasm.  He  had  a  faint  suspicion  that  his 
father's  sending  for  him  to  come  home  had  something 
to  do  with  this  garden  plot.  He  resented  the  sus- 
picion. That  the  Stevensons  had  been  tillers  of  the 
soil  for  three  generations  was  not  to  influence  a  fourth 
to  attach  his  aims  and  hopes  to  the  soil.  Cities  had 
set  their  fingers  upon  Hewitt,  and  he  had  no  desire  to 
unfasten  their  gentle  hold. 

When  apple  pie,  luscious  and  juicy,  had  been  eaten, 
Charles  Stevenson  arose,  patting  his  enlarged  abdom- 
inal regions  according  to  habit  and  wiping  the  ends 
of  his  short  mustache  vigorously  with  his  folded  nap- 
kin. He  was  very  leisurely,  and  grunted  out  an  un- 
convincing cough  or  two  while  advancing  to  the  door- 
way. There  he  turned  ponderously  and  looked  at  his 
son  with  blue  eyes  that  began  to  twinkle  mildly.  A 
breeze,  wandering  through  the  doorway,  stirred  the 
thin,  reddish  gray  hair  that  stood  up  in  a  curly  flufri- 
ness  from  his  partly  bald  crown,  giving  him  a  half- 
childish  air  of  abandon  which  was  incongruous  with 
his  breadth  of  shoulder  and  the  muscularity  of  his 
physique.  He  did  not  speak,  as  Hewitt  expected,  but 
coughed  again  and  went  out  upon  the  front  veranda. 

Grace  nodded  in  that  direction;  Hewitt  understood 
and  followed  his  father. 


32  CASTE  THREE 

Mr.  Stevenson  was  sitting  in  a  big,  caned  chair,  his 
feet  crossed  and  elevated  to  the  narrow  iron  railing. 
He  was  silent  while  his  son  drew  up  another  chair  and 
sat  down. 

"  I  suppose  you  are  anxious  to  know  why  I  sent  for 
you,  aren't  you?"  He  seemed  to  take  pleasure  in 
having  mystified  the  boy.  His  eyes  twinkled  again 
into  a  blurred  smile.  "  I  want  you  to  go  up  to  Purdue 
for  a  couple  of  years  and  take  an  agricultural  course. 
Then  you  can  come  back  here  and  I  '11  buy  up  the 
farm  next  to  that  garden  of  mine  and  we  '11  start 
farming  again.  Well?" 

He  regarded  his  son  narrowly,  the  twinkle  dying 
almost  imperceptibly  in  his  eyes  and  giving  place  to 
a  marked  concern  for  the  answer  to  this  generous 
proposition.  Hewitt  understood  immediately  how 
much  his  accepting  this  plan  meant  to  his  father.  The 
blow  had  fallen.  He  was  now  confronted  with  the 
confirmation  of  his  half-formed  suspicions.  But  he 
did  not  speak. 

"  Well,  what  do  you  say?  "  The  man  was  irritably 
impatient. 

Hewitt  had  never  in  his  life  talked  out  any  matter 
with  anyone  except  Paul.  Somehow,  Paul  was  dif- 
ferent. You  did  n't  mind  saying  things  to  him ;  you 
were,  moreover,  always  understood.  You  counted  on 
that.  Other  people  seldom  understood ;  they  made  you 
want  to  dry  up  and  thrash  it  out  with  yourself.  At 
present  he  was  so  sure  that  his  father  would  certainly 
not  understand  that  he  closed  up  his  recently  opened 


CASTE  THREE  33 

shell  and  set  his  jaw.  The  Stevensons  had  an  inherent 
tendency  to  set  their  jaws.  They  were  always  —  ex- 
cept Paul  —  either  in  the  act  of  setting  their  jaws  or 
of  releasing  them  from  a  set  position. 

His  father's  impatience  waxed.  He  saw,  no  doubt, 
that  Hewitt  might  refuse  even  to  discuss  the  matter 
with  him.  His  jaw,  too,  set. 

"  Well  ?  "  he  queried  again,  with  added  impatience. 

Then  something  in  the  lines  around  his  father's 
mouth  and  eyes  touched  Hewitt,  and  he  stopped  being 
a  Stevenson. 

"  I  tell  you,  Father,  I  'm  going  to  college, —  but  I 
want  to  take  an  academic  course.  I  don't  know  what 
profession  I  want  to  take  up  eventually.  I  'm  not  sure 
about  anything,  except  that  I  first  want  a  broad  foun- 
dation. I  can't  go  to  Purdue.  Purdue's  a  good 
school  of  its  kind,  but  I  don't  want  an  agricultural  or 
an  engineering  course." 

The  impatience  that  had  found  only  mild  expression 
and  demanded  more,  burst. 

"  You  might  as  well  understand  right  now  that  I  '11 
pay  for  an  agricultural  course,  and  not  for  any  other 
one.  You  can  take  that  and  come  back  here,  and 
we'll  run  that  farm.  Or  you  can  shift  for  yourself. 
If  you  think  for  one  minute  that  I  'm  goin'  to  spend 
my  hard-earned  money  sendin'  you  to  some  college 
to  make  a  street-car  conductor  or  a  professor  or  a 
snob  out  o'  you,  you  're  mistaken.  I  've  made  my 
offer,  and  it  '11  stand.  You  can  go  to  Purdue  for 
two  years,  and  I  '11  pay  all  the  expenses.  I  can  afford 


34  CASTE  THREE 

to,  if  we  're  going  on  a  farm  afterward.  You  better 
think  it  over." 

The  rage  subsided.  He  gazed  into  space,  while  his 
son  for  the  second  time  that  day  examined  the  rear 
of  the  shops  on  the  next  street  and  wished  himself 
back  in  Chicago  more  heartily  than  ever.  His  father's 
next  words  broke  in  on  this  current  of  desire. 

"  Look  here,  Hewie,"  he  said,  and  his  voice  and 
mood  were  perceptibly  softened,  "  I  'm  not  rich.  I  've 
got  money  in  the  bank  —  a  few  thousands.  We  can 
live  on  the  interest  all  right,  getting  what  we  do  from 
the  garden  out  there.  Grace  and  I  and  your  grand- 
father get  along  all  right  without  skimping  much.  I 
could  n't  afford  to  send  you  to  college  —  an  ordinary 
college  —  for  four  years  without  cutting  into  the  prin- 
cipal. Anyway,  you  don't  need  a  college  education. 
You  're  educated  right  now  all  you  need  be.  You  've 
got  what  most  men  would  consider  a  good  education. 
What  we  need  in  this  country,  instead  of  any  more 
two-by-four  college  graduates  to  fill  up  the  cities 
try  in'  to  live  better  than  their  fathers  did  on  less  money 
—  what  we  need  is  some  good  solid  farmers  with  a 
knowledge  of  soils  and  parasites  and  pigs  and 
dairyin'.  What  this  country  needs  is  some  good  young 
farmers." 

He  subsided  into  his  chair,  ready  for  further  length 
of  discourse. 

"  Now  when  I  was  young,  we  did  n't  have  to  be  so 
careful  of  soil  and  planting  and  so  forth.  There  was 
plenty  of  land  to  be  had  cheap.  Why,  Hewie,  since 


CASTE  THREE  35 

your  grandfather's  time,  land  values  have  doubled  in 
this  state.  Your  great-grandfather  was  one  of  the 
pioneers  in  Indiana.  He  cleared  some  of  the  land 
right  around  where  we  used  to  live.  Then  he  moved 
on  into  Illinois.  Everybody  in  those  days  moved  on. 
But  your  grandfather  came  back  to  Indiana  and  bought 
up  some  of  the  same  land  his  father  had  cleared. 
Land  was  n't  high  even  then,  and  the  soil  was  so  good 
that  no  one  had  to  be  careful.  If  you  wore  out  one 
field,  there  was  another  one  to  move  to.  It 's  only 
in  the  last  few  years  that  us  younger  farmers  have 
had  to  begin  thinkin'  about  the  land.  And  to  tell  the 
truth,  I  was  n't  thinkin'  much  about  it  when  I 
owned  that  land  over  east  of  here.  I  was  n't 
thinkin'  much  about  increasing  the  number  of 
bushels  to  the  acre.  But  I  've  been  finding  out  some 
things  since  I  've  had  more  time  to  read.  In 
fact,  for  a  couple  of  years  I  did  n't  have  much  else 
to  do  but  read,  and  I  've  found  out  a  lot  of  things 
from  these  new  farm  journals.  It  used  to  be  farmin' 
and  takin',  but  now  it 's  farmin'  and  puttin'.  For 
everything  you  take  out  of  the  soil,  you  've  got  to  put 
something  in.  In  fifty  years,  if  it's  handled  right, 
that  garden  and  the  farm  next  to  it  will  be  as  good 
as  it  was  twenty  years  ago." 

Hewitt  was  more  interested  than  he  had  intended 
or  wanted  to  be.  His  father  had  developed  mentally 
during  these  few  years.  But  no  amount  of  eloquence 
could  have  changed  the  boy's  feeling  about  the  agri- 
cultural course. 


36  CASTE  THREE 

The  September  twilight  deepened  into  darkness 
which  was  soon  pierced  by  the  gleams  of  a  street-light 
on  the  corner  in  front  of  the  house.  The  air  became 
clearer  and  cooler.  Father  and  son  silently  watched 
the  automobiles  which  passed.  Now  and  then  a  street- 
car clanged  its  way  along  Meridian.  Some  boys  gath- 
ered on  the  tennis-courts  across  the  street  to  play 
"  knock  the  wicket." 

"What  do  you  say,  Hewitt?"  questioned  the  man 
after  a  while,  with  a  complete  absence  of  rancor. 

Hewitt  hesitated. 

"  I  can't  do  it,  Father.  I  already  have  my  plans, 
and  it  wouldn't  be  fair  to  myself  to  take  your  way. 
Paul  was  going  to  help  me.  Now  I  '11  do  it  myself." 

The  older  man  looked  at  him. 

"  Then  you  're  going  back  to  Chicago  ?  " 

Hewitt  suspected  the  same  import  of  suppressed 
appeal  that  had  been  present  in  Grace's  similar  ques- 
tion of  the  afternoon.  He  disliked  hurting  his  father, 
but  he  wanted  to  go  back  to  Chicago. 

Five  years  before,  Paul  had  come  down  to  his 
mother's  funeral  and  had  found  his  young  brother 
just  finished  with  the  country  school  and  the  possessor 
of  a  keen,  unsatisfied  demand  for  more  education. 
They  had  all  been  glad  enough  to  accept  Paul's  sug- 
gestion that  Hewitt  go  back  to  Chicago  with  him  and 
finish  high  school.  His  father  had  wanted  Hewitt 
to  have  that  chance.  The  desire  for  education  was  a 
part  of  his  Anglo-Saxon  traditions.  But  gradually,  as 
the  boy  had  written  short  letters  telling  that  he  was 


CASTE  THREE  37 

working  on  Saturdays  in  a  grocery,  later  in  a  drug- 
store, and  still  later,  during  the  last  two  years  of  high 
school,  in  a  book-store  not  far  from  the  University 
of  Chicago,  their  father  had  let  Paul  and  Hewitt  pay 
all  the  expenses  of  this  education,  with  the  load  light- 
ened only  by  an  annual  Christmas  check  of  twenty 
dollars  or  so. 

Hewitt  had  had  his  country-school  training  supple- 
mented by  a  year  in  a  Chicago  grammar  school,  and 
had  also  spent  four  years  in  high  school.  But  by  far 
the  most  important  part  of  his  education  had  been 
gained  during  his  association  with  Paul,  with  univer- 
sity students  who  lived  near  them,  and  with  others 
who  made  Woody' s  book-store  a  rendezvous  and  gen- 
eral headquarters  for  the  discussion  of  anything  from 
sex  matters  to  the  possible  population  of  Mars  or  the 
weaknesses  in  theoretical  socialism. 

Between  school  terms  and  in  the  summer  Hewitt 
had  spent  his  time  reading  the  books  which  these  men 
talked  about.  He  did  not  at  first  understand  all  that 
he  read,  but  his  mentality  grew  by  leaps  and  bounds. 
Psychology  first,  and  later  sociology,  interspersed  with 
some  elementary  economics  and  bits  of  necessary 
biology,  had  consumed  his  attention  for  a  year.  Be- 
fore that,  all  his  reading  had  been  literature  —  the 
modern  novelists  and  poets  desultorily,  Arnold,  Pater, 
and  Coleridge  by  fits  and  starts,  Sudermann,  Haupt- 
man,  Maeterlinck,  Rostand,  Gorky  and  Andreyev  in 
translations,  and  the  American  realists  intermittently. 

Hewitt  was  the  kind  of  boy  that  people  take  delight 


38  CASTE  THREE 

in  attempting  to  influence  —  the  most  different  types 
of  people.  Mr.  Woody  had  tried  to  imprint  upon 
him  his  own  devotion  to  the  classics,  with  temporary 
success.  A  woman  suffragist  of  the  aggressive,  smil- 
ing, sure-of -her self  class  had  pursued  him  wildly  for 
an  entire  week,  trying  to  persuade  him  that  women 
must  have  the  vote;  and  Hewitt,  already  sure  that 
they  should  have  it,  but  unwilling  to  admit  as  much 
to  the  aggressive  one,  only  succeeded  in  getting  rid 
of  her  as  a  companion  by  remarking  with  a  contemp- 
tuous smile  that  he  himself  did  not  yet  have  the  vote 
and  so  was  little  concerned  with  woman's  possession 
of  it. 

One  young  iconoclast  distinctly  not  of  the  parlor 
variety,  a  German  Jew  even  thinner  than  Hewitt,  had 
been  most  potent  in  directing  the  course  of  his  thought. 
He  was  a  youth  who  had  come  to  Chicago  from  Ger- 
many at  the  age  of  seven,  unable  to  speak  any  but  the 
simplest  English.  With  the  keenness  of  the  intellec- 
tual of  his  race,  he  had  absorbed  the  conventional 
training  of  the  Chicago  schools  and  proceeded  to  be- 
come a  radical  critic  of  all  existing  institutions.  His 
pet  piece  of  iconoclasm  was  the  failure  of  democracy. 
During  many  evenings,  rainy  or  snowy  ones  especially, 
when  business  in  the  book-store  was  negligible,  old 
Mr.  Woody  and  Hewitt  and  Letsky  and  others  leaned 
upon  the  glass  show-cases  and  talked  far  into  the  night 
on  sex  and  religion  and  government  and  international 
law  and  Greek  art  and  any  other  subject  that  popped 
into  prominence  for  the  nonce. 


CASTE  THREE  39 

Letsky,  first  of  all,  knew  modern  science.  He  kept 
up  to  the  second  on  progress  in  research.  Then  his 
favorite  method  was  to  forge  ahead  from  the  point  up 
to  which  science  stood  sponsor  and  with  a  brilliant  im- 
agination tear  down  present  systems  to  establish  new 
ones.  Nothing  was  sacred  to  his  prying  mind.  He 
was  intent  upon  rapid  social  progress.  He  saw  ways. 
Into  the  maelstrom  in  which  he  plunged  Hewitt  he 
threw  one  straw  —  Question  everything ! 

"  Destructive  thinking  precedes  every  worthwhile 
piece  of  construction,"  he  used  to  say.  "  Question 
everything.  The  man  who  wrote  in  a  weekly  recently 
that  the  harsh  critic  is  acting  according  to  the  theory 
that  '  the  hand  that  rocks  the  boat  rules  the  land,' 
did  n't  carry  his  cleverness  far  enough.  Rocking  the 
boat  may  prove  that  the  craft  is  unseaworthy;  and 
then  it  can  be  made  seaworthy." 

A  favorite  butt  of  Letsky's  wit  was  marriage.  That 
institution,  the  target  of  a  great  deal  of  cheaper  wit 
than  the  young  Jew's,  the  chronic  source  of  vaudeville 
jokes,  and  presenting  more  apparent  weaknesses  than 
any  other  institution,  because  more  people  live  in  close 
relations  with  it  and  so  are  aware  of  its  defects,  served 
for  the  skeleton  upon  which  he  draped  his  best  mourn- 
ing. 

"  Marriage  among  primitive  people  was  beautiful, 
compared  to  our  modern  system,"  he  would  declare. 

"  What  have  you  to  offer  in  place  of  the  modern  ?  " 
Mr.  Woody  always  asked. 

"  Nothing  yet.     I  'm  going  to  have  something  to 


40  CASTE  THREE 

offer  in  a  few  years,  though,"  he  returned  laughing  on 
one  occasion. 

And  both  of  his  auditors,  strange  to  say,  were  firm 
in  their  belief  that  in  five  years  or  so  he  would  have  a 
solution  to  the  perplexities  of  this  particular  problem. 

"  Question  everything  "  had  been  his  last  words  to 
Hewitt  on  the  night  before  he  left  Chicago.  "  And 
don't  get  married  until  I  've  worked  out  this  new 
system,"  he  had  come  back  to  the  store-door  to  warn 
him. 

"  Then  you  '11  go  back  to  Chicago?  " 

His  father's  question  had  brought  racing  into 
Hewitt's  mind  those  talks  with  Letsky,  the  peacefulness 
of  being  in  the  midst  of  intellectual  movement,  and  the 
satisfaction  of  feeling  yourself  learning  from  others. 
But  dominating  all  his  desires  was  that  last  talk  he 
had  had  with  Paul. 

"  Even  if  father  wants  you  to  carry  out  some  plans 
of  his,  instead  of  your  own,  you  'd  better  stay  in 
Alston,"  the  latter  had  said.  "  You  can't  enter  the  uni- 
versity this  fall,  if  I  get  married.  You  can't  cover  all 
your  expenses  with  the  money  you  can  make  yourself. 
You  need  some  to  start  on.  Maybe  father  '11  help,  if 
he  sees  you  're  insistent  enough.  Stay  in  Alston  and 
work  and  save  your  money.  Father  may  help  in  the 
end." 

Now  that  he  was  in  Alston  and  confronted  by  his 
father's  determination  to  have  him  turn  scientific 
farmer,  he  wanted  to  disregard  Paul's  advice  and  take 
the  first  train  back.  But  caution  spoke. 


CASTE  THREE  41 

"Look  here,  Father,"  he  said,  shifting  nervously  in 
his  chair,  "  I  want  to  go  to  Chicago  University.  I 
can  earn  my  own  board  and  room  there,  if  you  '11  pay 
for  my  tuition  and  my  clothes.  Next  year,  maybe,  I 
could  manage  all  of  it.  I  don't  want  to  be  a  farmer. 
I  have  —  other  plans." 

"What  plans?" 

"  I  haven't  decided  definitely.  I  think  I  —  I  want 
to  write."  He  was  ashamed  of  the  confession. 

"Write  what?" 

"  I  can't  tell  yet.     Poetry  —  or  — " 

"Poetry?" 

"  Books  of  some  kind." 

"  There  's  no  money  in  poetry." 

Hewitt  was  angered. 

"  Do  you  think  money 's  the  only  thing  in  the 
world?" 

"  You  '11  find  money  is  a  blamed  sight  more  impor- 
tant than  some  other  things  you  think  are  so  impor- 
tant now.  When  you  're  sixty  you  '11  know  it 's  money 
that  keeps  you  out  of  the  poor- farm.  Money  — " 

"  I  know.  Of  course  one  needs  money.  I  need  some 
right  now."  A  smile  flickered  into  his  eyes  at  the  an- 
omaly of  his  position.  Deriding  money,  when  he  had 
been  begging  for  some  of  that  same  filthy  silverware ! 

"  Well,  you  '11  not  get  it  from  me,  unless  you  go 
to  Purdue  and  learn  something  practical.  Poetry! 
You  '11  learn  to  earn  your  own  living  in  my  way,  or 
you  '11  earn  it  the  best  way  you  can.  D'  you  under- 
stand?" 


42  CASTE  THREE 

Hewitt  considered  losing  his  temper  and  thundering 
a  little  understanding  in  his  own  behalf.  He  wanted, 
or  almost  wanted,  to  tell  his  father  that  he  did  n't  give 
a  damn  whether  he  helped  him  or  not,  and  to  bring 
his  fist  down  on  his  chair-arm,  as  his  father  had  done, 
with  an  ultimatum  of  "  Help  me,  or  I  '11  never  darken 
your  door  again !  "  But  he  had  rather  lost  the  habit 
of  getting  angry.  Paul  had  taught  him  by  example 
a  passivity  in  the  face  of  others'  anger.  "  What 's  the 
use  ?  "  that  amiable  person  always  had  said. 

"  All  right,  Father,"  was  what  Hewitt  actually  said. 
"  I  guess  I  understand.  Guess  I  '11  read  a  little  and  go 
to  bed." 

Mr.  Stevenson  allowed  his  son  to  rise,  stretch  him- 
self, and  go  into  the  house,  before  he  rose  quickly 
and  exclaimed  hoarsely: 

"  Are  you  going  back  to  Chicago?  " 

Hewitt  allowed  himself  to  be  deliberate.  He  knew 
that  his  father  wanted  him  to  stay,  and  he  had  a  feel- 
ing of  power  in  delaying  his  answer.  Also,  he  did 
not  wish  to  commit  himself.  So  he  equivocated. 

"  I  can't  tell.     I  '11  decide  to-morrow,"  he  replied. 

Hewitt  figured  that  if  he  could  make  even  fifteen 
dollars  a  week,  at  the  end  of  a  year  he  would  have 
seven  hundred  and  twenty  dollars.  "  If  I  could  save 
ten  a  week,"  he  thought,  "  I  'd  have  five  hundred  and 
twenty.  Not  so  bad.  I  guess  I  '11  stay."  But  he 
did  not  repeat  this  decision  aloud.  Instead,  he  yawned 
as  he  reached  the  top  of  the  stairs  and  switched  on  the 
light  in  the  hall. 


CHAPTER  III 

HEWITT'S  care  the  next  morning  as  to  his  linen, 
correctness  of  tie,  and  smoothness  of  hair  — 
the  last  only  conquered  into  submissiveness  by  brushing 
and  the  application  of  a  very  little  hair-oil  —  would 
have  laid  him  open  to  the  loud  scorn  of  Letsky  and 
his  radical  associates.  Five  hundred  and  twenty  dol- 
lars is  not  to  be  sniffed  at,  however.  In  Chicago  he 
would  have  to  pay  for  his  board  and  room;  here  at 
home  he  could  save.  And  one  must  yield  to  popular 
demand  in  regard  to  neatness  of  attire.  Five  years 
before,  Hewitt's  head  had  been  teeming  with  the  boy- 
ish "  classics "  which  the  farmers'  sons  around  him 
read  and  lent  to  each  other.  Not  dime  novels,  to  be 
sure,  for  these  had  become  passe,  but  stories  in  which 
two  bright  youths  apply  for  the  same  position  of  office 
boy,  or  some  equally  delectable  berth.  The  one  who 
is  pressed,  manicured,  and  washed,  is  always  success- 
ful over  his  untidy  rival.  Not  that  these  tales  in  nine- 
teen twelve  ordinarily  played  a  large  part  in  Hewitt's 
thought.  But  a  possible  five  hundred  and  twenty 
dollars  in  savings  depended  on  his  getting  a  position 
in  Alston,  and  savings  meant  college,  and  college 
meant  —  what  might  it  not  mean?  Ultimate  victory! 
Letsky  had  been  the  center  of  a  group  who  scorned 
correct,  or  even  spotless,  clothing.  To  them  it  was 

43 


44  CASTE  THREE 

the  index  of  the  materialistic,  and  hence  the  non-intel- 
lectual type  of  mind.  Some  men  went  to  the  univer- 
sity with  the  idea  of  getting  a  degree  in  order  that 
they  might  pursue  professions  or  business,  and  so 
might  acquire  money  to  sustain  or  raise  the  standard 
of  living  set  by  their  more  or  less  prosperous  fathers. 
These  were  worthy  only  of  contempt.  They  lived 
in  fraternity  houses,  or  if  not  fortunate  enough  as 
to  athletic  prowess  or  family  resources  to  be  affiliated 
with  such  an  organization,  aped  their  luckier  brethren. 
Their  object  was  to  get  through  college  with  as  little 
work  and  as  much  enjoyment  as  possible.  They 
scorned  the  workers,  the  "  grinds." 

So  said  Letsky  and  his  kind,  although  Hewitt  had 
upon  one  or  two  occasions  remonstrated  with  them 
and  tried  to  make  them  understand  that  there  were 
exceptions  to  this  brand  of  fraternity  men  —  his 
friend  Kenneth  Reed,  for  instance,  originally  a  friend 
of  Paul's,  but  since  become  David  to  Hewitt's  Jonathan 
during  a  winter  when  shortness  of  funds  kept  him  close 
to  the  campus.  The  young  man  had  even  taken 
Hewitt  to  his  fraternity  house  for  dinner,  where  the 
boy  had  been  delighted  with  the  gay  air  of  careless 
comradeship  that  prevailed  there. 

Letsky  and  his  friends  were  obdurate  to  this  line 
of  argument.  Their  creed  was  as  follows:  To  dis- 
tinguish ourselves  from  the  class  of  materialistic,  ig- 
norant members  of  the  American  proletariat  who  de- 
ceive themselves  by  thinking  they  are  an  aristocracy, 
we  disdain  clothing  as  decoration.  Clothes  are  all 


CASTE  THREE  45 

right  in  their  place;  society  decrees  that  man  cover 
his  nakedness.  Not  obeying  this  requirement  would 
possibly  inconvenience  us  and,  indeed,  make  it  impos- 
sible for  us  to  take  part  in  those  gatherings  of  society 
which  please  us.  But  in  clothing  ourselves  we  demand 
the  right  to  wear  any  kind  of  garment  which  our 
fancy  dictates. 

All  of  which  sounds  extremely  radical.  In  prac- 
tice, these  young  intellectuals  confined  their  "  fancy  " 
to  old  clothing  a  year  or  two  behind  the  fashions. 
They  refused  to  dress  up,  and  a  new  collar  meant  that 
some  relative  had  confiscated  and  destroyed  their  last 
frayed  piece  of  neckwear. 

"  You  spend  too  much  money  on  clothes,"  Letsky 
had  recently  told  Hewitt,  pointing  the  finger  of  scorn 
at  his  year-old  suit  which  had  been  cleaned  and  pressed. 
Hewitt  had  immediately  become  ashamed  of  his  bill 
for  pressing.  "  The  true  intellectual  has  no  concern 
with  clothes,"  continued  the  other.  "  A  natural  state 
of  nakedness  would  clarify  many  of  the  world's  ideals. 
Your  own  Carlyle  says  as  much." 

In  English  literature  Letsky  permitted  himself  to 
admire  only  two  men  —  the  illustrious  Scotch  Thomas, 
just  quoted,  and  the  Irish  Bernard  Shaw.  Even  they, 
of  course,  had  their  glaring  weaknesses  for  him. 

Nevertheless,  Hewitt,  hating  dirtiness  with  the 
hatred  of  Grace's  brother,  paid  strict  attention  to  his 
clothing  on  this  morning.  He  was  even  cleaner  than 
usual,  if  that  were  possible. 

He  later  explained  to  his  father  that  his  presence 


46  CASTE  THREE 

in  the  garden  five  miles  out  could  be  postponed,  in 
view  of  his  determination  to  get  a  position  that  would 
pay  enough  to  make  college  the  following  year  a  pos- 
sibility. 

"What's  the  chance  in  the  factories  here?"  he 
asked  him  after  breakfast. 

"  I  don't  know  much  about  the  factories.  There  's 
plenty  of  them  here,  though.  The  chamber  of  com- 
merce has  brought  three  or  four  new  ones  here  lately. 
The  biggest  one  is  out  east  from  here.  It  manufac- 
tures lighting  and  starting,  and  ignition  systems.  The 
two  men  who  began  it  about  fifteen  years  ago  sold  out 
last  year  to  a  company.  An  Indianapolis  banker  owns 
most  of  the  stock,  I  guess.  It 's  a  good  concern.  It 
built  a  country  club  this  summer  out  east  of  town  for 
its  employees.  They  say  that  those  two  men  the  fac- 
tory 's  named  after — name  's  Preston — experimented 
in  a  shed  back  of  their  house  when  they  were  boys 
trying  to  get  their  invention  perfected.  The  older  one 
is  the  mechanical  genius;  the  other  runs  the  business 
end.  It 's  the  biggest  factory  here.  It  employs  over 
a  thousand  men,  I  'spect.  You  might  go  there.  I 
guess  there  are  about  ten  other  good-sized  factories 
here,  too,  and  lots  of  little  ones." 

"  I  believe  I  '11  go  out  to  Preston's.  The  bigger  the 
place,  the  more  chance  of  getting  in." 

Mr.  Stevenson  watched  his  son  reach  for  his  hat  on 
the  line  of  hooks  attached  to  the  hall- wall.  At  last 
he  spoke  again  in  an  off-hand  way,  as  though  he  had 
just  thought  of  the  matter. 


CASTE  THREE  47 

"  Look  here,  Hewie.  I  said  I  wouldn't  help  you 
through  college,  but  if  you  '11  stay  here  in  Alston  and 
work  and  save  your  money,  you  understand  that  you 
don't  have  to  pay  any  board." 

"  All  right."  This  was  Hewitt's  way  of  thanking 
him.  He  had  expected  the  proposition,  but  he  had  not 
expected  his  father  to  speak  of  it  so  soon. 

The  youth  was,  on  this  bright  September  morning, 
the  victim  of  no  such  strong  desire  to  be  in  Chicago 
as  he  had  been  the  night  before.  Sleep  had  eliminated 
the  nervous  excitability  that  had  given  rise  to  that 
painful  discontent.  Alston  looked  almost  pleasant  in 
the  morning  light. 

"  Hello,  Buster !  "  he  said  to  a  small  boy  plodding 
along  the  street  with  an  air  of  extreme  weariness. 
"School  begun?" 

"  Begins  Monday."  There  was  no  belief  in  educa- 
tion in  the  voice. 

"  Tough  luck !  "  laughed  Hewitt. 

The  factory  was  located  a  mile  or  more  from  the 
center  of  the  city,  much  of  the  territory  between  it 
and  the  business  district  being  built  up  with  small,  old- 
fashioned  houses  and  cottages.  The  size  of  Alston, 
as  approximated  during  his  walk,  surprised  Hewitt. 
"  It 's  not  so  small,"  he  was  driven  to  admit.  Just 
before  the  groups  of  houses  scattered  into  vacant  lots 
and  garden  tracts  that  indicated  the  margin  of  the 
open  country,  he  turned,  as  directed  by  the  flagman  at 
the  railway  crossing,  and  passing  a  factory  where 
automobile  and  bicycle  tires  were  made,  emerged 


48  CASTE  THREE 

upon  a  wide,  well-paved  street  showing  a  park  on  one 
side  and  a  stretch  of  neat,  fresh  cottages  on  the  other. 
He  made  his  way  for  several  blocks  down  this  thoro- 
fare  before  he  approached  a  brick-and-stone  office.  In 
front  of  it  a  well-kept  lawn  blossomed  with  geometric 
beds  of  geraniums  and  petunias,  and  beyond  it 
stretched  to  the  west  and  south  an  expanse  of  many- 
windowed  factory  buildings. 

Hewitt's  sense  of  exhilaration,  born  of  his  brisk 
walk  and  the  clear  coolness  of  the  autumn  morning, 
waned  slightly  before  the  necessity  of  entering  the 
structure  before  him  to  ask  for  work.  It  really  did  n't 
matter  whether  he  got  the  position  he  was  after  or 
not,  he  knew.  There  were  other  factories.  He  could 
always  go  back  to  Chicago.  He  compelled  himself  to 
assume  a  cheerfulness  he  did  not  feel  while  climbing 
the  steps  and  entering  the  clean,  cool,  outer  office, 
where  a  stenographer  and  clerk  were  working. 

The  young  man  stated  his  errand.  The  stenogra- 
pher looked  up  with  a  curious  glance,  and  then  resumed 
her  work;  but  she  could  not  resist  a  second  look.  If 
she  could  have  read  the  depth  of  Hewitt's  indifference 
to  all  feminine  youth ! 

"  Mr.  Cooke  will  see  you  in  a  moment,"  he  was  told. 
"  Sit  down." 

Mr.  Cooke  took  his  time  about  seeing  him.  Not 
that  the  youth  minded,  though  his  discomfiture  in- 
creased. But  he  examined  the  offices  at  the  rear,  and 
through  a  series  of  open  doors  he  could  see  into  a 
factory-room  beyond.  Here  twenty  or  more  men 


CASTE  THREE  49 

were  closing  packing-cases  and  rolling  trucks  toward 
an  unseen  entrance. 

The  result  of  his  interview  with  Mr.  Cooke  was  not 
favorable.  Business  was  a  little  slack,  and  Preston's 
were  not  taking  on  any  new  men  at  the  moment. 

"  You  say  you  're  a  graduate  of  a  Chicago  high 
school  ?  What  business  experience  have  you  had  ?  " 

Hewitt  told  him  about  the  grocery  and  the  drug- 
store and  Woody 's  book-store. 

"  I  see,"  said  the  acting-manager.  "  You  fill  out 
this  blank,  and  we  '11  file  it.  By  the  way,  if  you  have 
been  working  in  a  book-store,  you  might  have  some 
chance  to  get  in  Smith's  here.  That 's  the  best  one  in 
town.  We  '11  keep  your  application  on  file." 

Hewitt  walked  out  into  the  open  air  with  a  leaden 
heart.  He  liked  what  he  had  seen  of  that  factory, 
and  deprived  of  the  opportunity  of  working  there,  it 
became  more  tempting  than  ever.  It  was  so  clean  and 
orderly,  the  new  kind  of  factory  you  read  about, 
probably  with  lounging-rooms  and  rest-rooms,  and 
even  pool-  and  billiard-rooms.  And  that  country  club 
his  father  had  spoken  of.  That  showed  what  kind  of 
people  these  were.  Also,  the  story  his  father  sug- 
gested of  the  success  of  the  two  men  who  had  begun 
the  business  held  an  element  of  romance.  The  im- 
mensity of  the  concern  filled  Hewitt  with  a  new  ad- 
miration for  Alston.  He  remembered,  confronted 
with  the  giant  letters  PRESTON  on  top  of  the  fac- 
tory, that  he  had  seen  a  full-page  advertisement  of 
this  company  in  one  of  the  largest  weeklies.  It  was 


50  CASTE  THREE 

an  impressively  simple  advertisement,  with  the  infor- 
mation :  "  Factories  —  Alston,  Indiana.  Offices, — 
Detroit,  Chicago,  New  York,  and  London."  He  had 
only  noticed  this  advertisement  because  of  the  unex- 
pected information  about  Alston.  Hewitt  turned  to 
look  at  the  buildings  again,  and  caught  a  glimpse  of 
the  little  stenographer  watching  him.  He  hurried  on 
with  no  second  thought  of  her. 


CHAPTER  IV 

HEWITT  jumped  into  a  street-car  when  he  had 
crossed  the  railroad  on  his  return  to  town.     It 
jerked   along   spasmodically   over   uneven   rails.     He 
lighted  a  cigarette  in  an  attempt  to  regain  some  of  his 
spirits. 

"  I  can  always  go  back  to  Chicago,"  he  told  himself, 
"  and  that 's  where  I  want  to  go  anyway." 

The  street-car  clanged  its  way  down  Meridian 
Street,  where  little  pools  lay  in  the  ruts  in  the  pave- 
ment, giving  proof  that  a  sprinkler  had  passed  recently. 
Traffic  was  lighter  than  it  had  been  on  the  previous 
afternoon.  A  few  automobile  trucks  and  some  wag- 
ons clattered  along,  but  pedestrians  were  few. 

Hewitt  wandered  into  the  drug-store  on  the  corner 
again,  because  he  wanted  information  about  Smith's 
book-store  and  because  he  wanted  something  to  drink. 
A  negro  was  clattering  tables  and  chairs  into  rooms  to 
facilitate  his  cleaning  of  the  tile  floor.  Two  clerks 
were  dusting  show-cases.  One  of  them  was  exchang- 
ing jests  with  a  pale  boy  who,  decked  in  a  white  coat 
and  cap,  was  scrubbing  energetically  at  the  marble- 
topped  fountain. 

"  Where  's  Smith's?  "  asked  Hewitt. 

"  Three  doors  north,"  the  girl  at  the  cigar-counter 
told  him. 

Si 


52  CASTE  THREE 

"  Thank  you."  Then  he  turned  to  the  boy  at  the 
fountain.  "  Give  me  a  '  coke/  "  he  said. 

He  drank  the  dark  brown,  iced  liquid  in  three  gulps. 
It  was  a  stimulant,  and  he  needed  stimulation.  Hew- 
itt hated  the  new.  It  unnerved  him.  A  doubt  of  his 
ever  getting  a  position  assailed  him  and  crumpled  his 
backbone  annoyingly. 

He  sauntered  three  doors  north,  and  bolted  quickly 
into  the  entrance  of  Smith's  book-store  with  a  prelim- 
inary feeling  of  failure.  It  was  not  a  wide  room. 
Some  shining,  highly-polished  office-desks  on  which 
stood  brass,  green-shaded  desk-lights  made  a  row 
through  the  center  of  it.  Two  clerks,  a  young  man 
and  a  fluffy-haired  girl  who  watched  him  as  he  pro- 
ceeded toward  a  desk  behind  the  sporting  goods  coun- 
ter at  the  rear,  were  arranging  magazines  they  were 
taking  from  a  box. 

"Something?"  the  girl  asked  in  a  professional 
tone. 

"  I  want  to  see —    Is  Mr.  Smith  here?  " 

"  Yes.     He 's  back  there  at  the  desk." 

She  returned  to  her  work  and  said  something  to 
the  boy  that  Hewitt  could  not  catch.  The  tatter  con- 
tinued to  watch  the  newcomer  as  he  walked  toward 
the  desk  at  which  Mr.  Smith  was  writing,  unaware  of 
footsteps  approaching  him. 

Hewitt  became  irritated  at  the  flush  he  could  feel 
creeping  up  into  his  cheeks  and  his  hair  as  he  found 
himself  involuntarily  softening  the  sound  of  his  foot- 
steps. He  had  an  uncomfortable  sensation  of  being 


CASTE  THREE  53 

about  to  break  into  ingratiating  Uriah  Heep  move- 
ments with  his  hands.  He  threw  off  the  desire  with 
a  jerk,  and  stood  quietly,  hat  in  hand,  with  his  head 
thrown  back  in  painful  consciousness  of  the  boy  and 
girl,  until  the  man  looked  up  inquiringly  at  him.  Evi- 
dently he  was  not  so  unaware  of  those  footsteps  as  he 
had  seemed,  but  he  immediately  resumed  operations  on 
the  check-book  under  his  hand. 

"Well?" 

The  silence  was  broken  at  the  end  of  an  interval 
during  which  Hewitt  found  himself  growing  hotter 
and  hotter. 

"Could  I  talk  to  you?"  asked  Hewitt  with  some 
difficulty. 

He  had  been  sure  that  he  was  going  to  stutter,  but 
he  conquered  that  weakness  and  spoke  with  deceiv- 
ing ease. 

"  Sure.  Talk  ahead."  Mr.  Smith,  very  broad  of 
shoulder  and  immense  of  abdomen,  his  high  brown 
derby  pushed  a  little  back  on  his  bald  head,  swung 
back  in  his  swivel-chair  and  looked  at  Hewitt  with 
a  quizzical  smile.  "  Talk  ahead.  I  'm  listening. 
Pretty  warm,  isn't  it?" 

Hewitt  had  no  desire  to  "  talk  ahead "  in  the 
presence  of  those  two  annoying  young  persons  who 
were  still  busy  over  the  magazines  not  far  away,  and 
yet  he  could  not  very  well  ask  Mr.  Smith  to  see  him 
in  a  private  room,  since  only  one  door  was  visible 
and  that  opened  into  the  alley  back  of  the  gray- 
stone  post-office.  He  tried  to  speak  low,  but  the  man's 


54  CASTE  THREE 

unnecessarily  loud  and  distinct  answers  could  be  heard 
anywhere  within  two  hundred  yards. 

"  I  'm  trying  to  find  a  place  —  to  find  work,"  Hewitt 
began.  He  could  feel  the  eyes  of  the  fluffy-haired 
girl  upon  him.  "  I  've  worked  for  over  two  years  in 
Woody's  book-store  near  the  University  of  Chicago. 
I  want  to  stay  in  Alston  this  year,  if  I  can  find  a  place. 
I  was  wondering  if  —  you  —  needed  anyone."  The 
finish  was  lamer  than  the  beginning. 

Mr.  Smith  shifted  the  brown  derby  forward  and 
examined  Hewitt  from  head  to  toe  with  the  appear- 
ance of  appraising  him.  Then  he  made  out  another 
check,  put  it  in  an  envelope,  and  addressed  it. 

"  We  need  some  one,"  he  took  the  boy's  breath 
away  by  saying.  "  School  begins  Monday,  and 
there  '11  be  a  rush  for  a  few  days.  We  can  take  you 
on  temporarily  at  seven  a  week,  but  the  work  may 
only  last  a  week  —  unless  we  all  take  a  fancy  to  you," 
he  added  whimsically. 

Hewitt  caught  his  breath  and  nearly  dropped  his 
cap  at  the  same  time. 

"  Seven  a  week  ?  "  he  said.  "  Why,  I  could  make 
six  a  week  working  after  school  and  on  Saturdays 
at  Woody's  in  Chicago." 

"  Well,  this  is  not  Chicago,  Son,  you  know." 

"  But  I  'm  a  high  school  graduate  and  know  books." 

"  Where  'd  you  graduate  from  high  school  ?  " 

"  Chicago." 

"  How  long  did  you  say  you  worked  at  Woody's?  " 


CASTE  THREE  55 

"  Two  years  and  a  little  over." 

"Well,  this  isn't  Chicago,  Son,"  he  repeated. 
"  What 's  your  name?  " 

"  Hewitt  Stevenson." 

"  And  you  're  a  graduate  of  a  high  school  and 
worked  for  two  years  in  a  book-store?" 

"  Yes,  sir." 

Suddenly  Mr.  Smith  seemed  to  have  an  inspiration. 

"Typewrite?"  he  asked. 

"  Yes.     Took  it  at  school." 

"  All  right,  Son.  Sit  down  there  at  that  type- 
writer and  let 's  see  you  copy  this  letter  of  mine." 
He  whirled  in  his  chair  and  drew  out  two  pages  of 
closely-written  manuscript  from  a  pigeon-hole,  hand- 
ing them  to  Hewitt. 

The  young  man,  with  no  idea  whether  or  not  this 
was  in  the  nature  of  a  test,  threw  back  the  cover  of 
the  machine  and  set  to  work  trying  to  read  the  letter. 
There  were  difficulties.  Words  thoroughly  familiar 
to  the  boy,  when  written  in  their  usual  form  and 
spelled  according  to  recognized  authorities,  eluded  his 
grasp  for  entire  minutes.  He  pondered  over  certain 
expressions  until  he  became  afraid  that  Mr.  Smith, 
noting  the  absence  of  noise  indicating  progress  on  the 
work,  might  turn  around  and  seize  the  letter  from  his 
unresisting  hands  in  a  fit  of  temper,  although  he  did 
not  appear  to  be  a  tempestuous  sort  of  person.  He 
typed  the  heading  at  length,  and  attempted  the  first 
paragraph.  If  the  words  had  been  the  short  words 


56  CASTE  THREE 

of  ordinary  letter-writing  or  of  speech,  he  could  have 
made  a  guess  at  the  contents,  being  a  good  guesser, 
but  they  were  long  words,  very  long  words. 

After  ten  minutes  Hewitt  gave  up  in  despair  and 
approached  the  manager  hesitatingly. 

"  Mr.  Smith,  I  'm  sorry  to  bother  you,  but  I  can't 
make  out  this  word." 

Mr.  Smith  put  on  the  tortoise-rimmed  spectacles 
which  dangled  from  a  cord  around  his  plump  neck 
and  peered  searchingly  at  the  word  indicated  by 
Hewitt's  pointing  finger. 

"  Don't  write  very  plain,  do  I  ? "  he  hemmed. 
"  Let 's  see.  That  word  —  is  —  Oh,  yes,  that 's  '  as- 
signment.' I  'm  a  poor  writer,  Son.  Always  was. 
Go  ahead.  You  're  slow." 

"I  —  I  stopped  over  that  word.  I  hated  to  bother 
you." 

"  All  right.  No  bother.  Go  ahead,"  and  he  picked 
up  the  morning  paper  and  began  to  turn  the  pages 
noisily. 

A  young  man,  dressed  in  the  tight  English  style  just 
coming  into  vogue,  hatless  and  sunburned,  dashed  in 
at  the  door  and  back  to  the  desk. 

"  Say,  Dad,  the  golf  tournament 's  on  and  mother 
and  Ernestine  and  I  '11  stay  out  at  the  club  for  lunch. 
So  you  go  to  the  restaurant.  How 're  things?" 

'Things'  are  all  right,  Blake.  Go  ahead  and 
enjoy  yourself  while  you  're  young,  and  don't  begin 
to  worry  about  the  business." 

They  both  laughed  at  this  mild  sarcasm. 


CASTE  THREE  57 

"  Fine  day  for  the  last  matches.  You  ought  to 
come  out,  Dad." 

"  No.  No,  thanks.  Busy.  Run  along,"  and  Mr. 
Smith  turned  to  adjust  his  glasses  and  continued  his 
reading.  "How's  that  letter  coming?"  he  asked 
presently. 

"All  right,  I  guess,"  said  Hewitt.  "There's  a 
word  here  I  can't  make  out,  though.  There  's  a  little 
blot  over  it." 

"  Yes?  Let 's  see.  Oh,  yes.  That 's  — "  he  puck- 
ered his  lips  into  a  whistle.  "  Be  darned  if  I  know. 
Lord,  how  I  write.  Never  could  read  my  own, 
once  it  was  cold.  That 's  — '  Harper's  Magazine! 
Sure!" 

"  Thanks." 

Hewitt  smiled  to  himself  as  he  finished  the  sentence. 
He  clicked  on  to  the  end,  stopping  intermittently  to 
ponder  over  the  elusive  meanings,  but  at  last  it  was 
done,  ready  for  the  signature. 

"  Fine ! "  admired  the  author  of  the  original. 
"  Looks  fine.  I  can't  type  a  decent  letter  to  save 
my  life.  I  worked  over  that  touch  method  they  sent 
me  a  book  about  when  I  bought  the  machine,  but  I 
could  n't  learn  it.  Blake  —  my  son  who  was  just  in 
here  —  could  do  this  typewriting  for  me  if  he  would, 
but  he  's  too  busy  playing  golf  and  making  love  to 
the  girls.  Good  boy  but  he  likes  to  enjoy  himself. 
Natural  enough.  I  did,  too,  when  I  was  his  age. 
Now  let 's  see.  I  'm  to  sign  here.  All  right,  Son,  you 
can  come  here  and  work  for  a  week,  and  if  you  do 


58  CASTE  THREE 

well  enough  and  take  an  interest  in  the  business,  we  '11 
see  what  we  can  do  for  you." 

"Start  at  seven  a  week?"  asked  Hewitt,  hesitat- 
ingly. 

"  No.  You  can  type  my  letters,  so  I  '11  give  you 
ten." 

"All  right.     Start  to-day?" 

"  You  just  stay.     I  '11  show  you  around." 

Hewitt  hesitated  again. 

"  If  I  start  at  ten  and  prove  satisfactory,  there  is  n't 
any  reason  why  I  should  n't  expect  to  get  fifteen  before 
long,  is  there?" 

"  Fifteen?  "  Mr.  Smith  puckered  his  forehead  and 
pursed  his  lips  into  an  expression  of  doubt.  "  Well, 
we  '11  say  ten  and  see  what  happens." 

Hewitt  was  not  entirely  satisfied,  but  he  liked  Mr. 
Smith.  There  was  a  wholesome  healthiness  about 
him.  He  did  n't  have  Mr.  Woody's  refinement  nor 
his  classical  tastes,  certainly,  but  he  was  good-natured, 
and  that  appealed  to  Hewitt.  Therefore  he  stayed. 

Hewitt  sat  gazing  toward  the  front  of  the  store, 
where  a  woman  was  buying  stationery  from  the  boy 
who  had  been  unpacking  magazines.  Now  that  he 
had  the  position  he  had  been  seeking,  a  surge  of 
superiority  crept  over  Hewitt.  He  knew  more  about 
books  than  any  one  in  Alston,  he  would  have  wagered. 
Out  of  ten  a  week  he  could  save  at  least  seven,  but 
he  would  see  to  it  that  the  ten  became  fifteen  soon. 

The  purchasing  public  who  wandered  in  now  and 
again  had  the  air  of  wanting  something,  though  they 


CASTE  THREE  59 

were  not  sure  what.  Probably  it  was  a  "  good " 
monthly  with  lots  of  enormously  interesting  stories 
about  the  romance  of  the  slums,  or  about  feminine 
clerks  in  department-stores  who  were  determined  not 
to  "  go  wrong,"  or  about  the  wealthy  leisure-class 
who  had  little  to  do  except  to  get  into  mystery  stories. 
This,  at  least,  was  Hewitt's  interpretation  of  their 
wants.  He  made  it  while  he  was  observing  them  and 
Mr.  Smith  and  the  store  and  the  two  clerks  who  were 
busying  themselves  in  the  front  of  the  store,  now  that 
they  were  sure  Mr.  Smith  had  decided  to  hire  the 
new  clerk.  He  determined  to  like  Mr.  Smith.  He 
imagined,  too,  that  he  might  like  Blake  Smith,  should 
he  ever  be  thrown  into  close  contact  with  him.  But 
any  hopes  he  had  of  knowing  Blake  well  rapidly 
evaporated  when  a  young  newspaper-reporter,  a  high- 
school  boy,  came  in  and  saluted  the  manager  and 
owner  with,  "  Good  morning,  Mr.  Smith.  Any  news 
for  the  Times?" 

Mr.  Smith  looked  at  the  young  chap  deliberately 
and  quite  unintentionally  knocked  his  glasses  down  the 
front  of  a  soiled  vest,  the  two  top  buttons  of  which 
were  open,  revealing  a  crinkled  white  shirt  on  which 
some  cigar  ashes  were  reposing. 

"News?  There's  plenty  of  news.  Lots  of  it. 
I  'm  hiring  a  new  clerk,  for  one  thing." 

The  boy  grinned. 

"  What  d'  you  think  the  Times  is,  a  country  news- 
paper ?  " 

"  Well,  we  're  only  thirty  thousand,  Eddie." 


60  CASTE  THREE 

"  Thirty-five,"  contradicted  the  youth. 

"  May  be.  But  here  's  another  item.  Blake  's  go- 
ing back  to  Wisconsin  to  school  next  week."  He 
shook  with  a  great  chuckle. 

"  Good  heavens !  "  cried  the  reporter,  "  we  've  been 
running  that  item  for  a  week  now !  "  He  threw  up  his 
hands  and  dodged  out  at  a  mock  run.  "  I  guess  I  '11 
go  where  there  's  some  real  news ! " 

"  Becker's  cigar-store,  I  '11  bet!  " — and  Mr.  Smith's 
prophecy  proved  true  enough,  as  Hewitt  could  see. 
"  Those  young  kids  can't  resist  that  pool-room,  even 
when  they  know  they  ought  to  be  working.  Eddie's 
father  's  out  West  trying  to  get  another  start  —  he 
went  under  here  —  and  Eddie 's  supposed  to  be 
putting  himself  through  high  school.  But  he  's  going 
to  lose  his  job,  because  he  spends  so  much  of  his 
time  over  there."  Mr  Smith  chewed  his  cigar  rumi- 
natingly.  "  These  kids !  But  say,  Hewitt,  I  '11  intro- 
duce you  to  these  clerks  in  a  minute.  You  might  as 
well  help  around  here  a  little.  I  want  to  explain  some 
things  to  you,  too.  By  the  way,  what  does  your  father 
do?" 

"  Retired  farmer." 

"  Won't  invest  his  money,  will  he  ?  "  This  was  in 
the  nature  of  a  statement,  rather  than  a  question. 

Hewitt  shook  his  head. 

"  I  don't  know,"  he  said,  and  felt  sure  that  his  father 
would  n't,  also  ashamed  that  this  was  so,  in  view  of 
Mr.  Smith's  evident  disapproval.  "  I  have  n't  been 
home  since  he  sold  his  land  east  of  here." 


CASTE  THREE  61 

"  Well,  he  won't.  We  tried  to  get  him  interested  in 
the  citizens'  heating  company  we  were  forming  last 
year  to  supply  heat  to  the  downtown  property  holders, 
and  he  would  n't  budge  from  his  first  position. 
Wanted  his  money  safe  in  a  bank.  Now,  about  this 
business.  What  do  you  want  to  work  in  a  book- 
store for  ?  Why  does  n't  your  father  make  a  farmer 
out  of  you?" 

Hewitt  explained  half-impatiently. 

"  M'm,"  was  Mr.  Smith's  contribution  to  the  sub- 
ject. "  Bound  to  go  to  college  ?  " 

"  I  want  to  go." 

"  All  right.  Now,  about  this  business.  The 
Smiths  have  run  a  book-store  in  Alston  ever  since 
there  was  an  Alston.  In  fact,  even  before  there  was 
an  Alston  I  'spect  my  ancestors  had  an  idea  that  when 
there  was  one,  the  Smiths  would  have  a  store  there. 
I  've  watched  this  town  grow  from  a  few  thousands 
to  thirty-five  thousand.  There  are  a  few  of  us  here 
who  came  to  Alston  long  before  there  was  a  natural 
gas  boom  in  these  parts.  Why,  I  remember  when  all 
that  section  eater-cornered  from  the  post-office  was 
woods,  with  a  cemetery  about  where  that  big  place 
of  Waite's  is  on  Chase  and  Eleventh  Streets.  Alston 
was  n't  very  big  in  those  days,  and  my  father's  furni- 
ture business  was  more  important  than  the  book-and- 
stationery  part.  Since  then,  of  course,  we  Ve  sold 
out  the  furniture,  except  the  office  supplies.  Now 
what  I  'm  trying  to  explain  to  you,  Hewitt,  is  that 
this  business  of  ours  means  a  lot  more  than  dollars 


62  CASTE  THREE 

and  cents.  If  my  family  tried  to  live  on  the  money 
from  this  bookstore,  they  might  have  to  cut  down 
on  their  living  expenses  more  than  they  do.  We 
make  money,  but  not  enough  to  support  my  family 
the  way  they  choose  to  live.  I  don't  spend  so  much, 
but  they  like  it,  and  I  have  the  money  to  let  them  do 
as  they  like.  But  if  a  person  leaves  this  store  dis- 
satisfied, either  with  the  service  he  gets  or  with  the 
merchandise  he  buys,  I  want  to  make  it  right  with 
him.  Pleasing  people  costs  money  sometimes.  I 
know  it.  I  do  it.  I  want  satisfied  customers.  See?" 

The  man  chewed  again  at  the  cigar  he  held  in  his 
hand  and  gazed  at  Hewitt,  who  was  leaning  against 
a  low  counter. 

"  Sit  down,  Son." 

Hewitt  sat  down. 

"  What  do  you  know  about  books?  "  was  next  flung 
at  him. 

He  hesitated  and  looked  his  question. 

"  Novels,  for  instance?  "  he  inquired. 

Mr.  Smith  nodded. 

"  Not  so  much,"  he  lied.  He  really  thought  he 
knew  a  great  deal  about  them.  "  Rather  a  poor  lot  as 
a  whole,  the  American  novels,"  he  said;  then  added, 
"Are  n't  they?" 

"  H'm,"  said  Mr.  Smith  noncommitally. 

"  Dreiser  has  an  artist's  message,  I  believe.  He  's 
the  only  realist  who  can  approach  Howells." 

"Dreiser?"  growled  Mr.  Smith.  "I  never  heard 
of  him." 


CASTE  THREE  63 

"  Indiana  man.     Used  to  live  up  here  at  Warsaw." 

"  Who  else  is  good?  " 

"  Well,  I  suppose  Wharton,  Churchill,  Harrison, 
Norris,  and  a  few  others  have  tried  to  do  something 
a  little  better  than  popular  drivel.  But  our  men  as 
a  whole  can't  approach  the  English." 

"Why?" 

"  There 's  not  enough  intelligent  reading  in  this 
country  to  encourage  the  novelist  to  try  to  do  better 
than  light  sentimentality.  A  man  in  this  country  is 
either  popular  and  light,  or  poverty-stricken  and  '  high- 
brow.' In  England  the  reading  public  demands  better 
literature  and  gets  it." 

"  H'm.     How  do  you  know  so  much  about  it?  " 

"I  —  I  read.  Then,  you  see,"  he  went  on 
apologetically,  "  being  near  a  university  you  hear 
these  things  discussed  and  like  to  know  a  little  about 
them  yourself." 

"  All  right,  Hewitt.  By  the  way,  Mrs.  Tom 
Stewart  wants  some  one  sent  up  to  take  an  order 
for  books  and  magazines.  Wha-t  do  you  say  to  go- 
ing up  yourself?  You  might  like  to  talk  to  her.  She 
used  to  teach  in  Chicago  before  she  married  Tom. 
Fine  woman.  But  don't  get  too  '  high-brow  '  even 
with  her,  Son.  People,  the- general  run  of  people,  even 
bright  ones,  don't  read  much  outside  of  magazines 
and  books  on  subjects  they  're  particularly  interested 
in.  The  most  popular  books  in  our  store  last  year 
were  one  on  woman's  suffrage  and  another  on 
'  bridge.'  The  women  in  Alston  like  those  things. 


64  CASTE  THREE 

You  run  up  to  the  Stewarts  now.  I  '11  telephone  Mrs. 
Stewart  and  tell  her  I  'm  sending  you/' 

"Where  does  she  live?" 

"  Up  on  Eighth  Street,  in  the  '  four  hundred ' 
block.  Big  house  set  back  in  shrubbery.  Green 
house." 

Hewitt  braced  up.  He  felt  excited,  relieved,  now 
that  a  little  responsibility  had  been  thrust  on  him. 
He  wanted  to  talk  to  this  woman  who  had  once  lived 
in  Chicago,  still  the  city  of  beauty,  its  glories  bright 
on  the  distant  horizon.  Blessed  city  of  romance  — 
the  romance  of  the  far-away! 

The  young  man  made  his  way  through  the  morning 
shoppers  down  Meridian  Street  to  Eighth,  which 
stretched  east  and  west,  passing  on  the  north  side  of 
the  court-house.  Its  length  to  the  west  was  attractive 
with  large  residences,  some  of  them  almost  palatial, 
surrounded  by  well-kept  lawns  and  masses  of 
shrubbery.  An  electric  coupe  glided  out  from  the 
driveway  of  a  stone  house  as  Hewitt  passed.  A  sweet- 
faced  old  lady  dressed  in  lavender  smiled  as  she  drove 
in  front  of  him. 

The  Stewart  house  was  impressive,  even  to  Hewitt's 
Chicago-minded  attitude.  He  climbed  the  stone  steps 
with  a1  new  sense  of  the  importance  of  Alston  as  a 
center  of  wealth.  A  wide  veranda,  covered  with  a 
thick  screen  of  vines,  stretched  around  the  corner  of 
the  house  and  ended  in  a  porte-cochere  under  which 
stood  a  powerful  gasoline  automobile.  A  white- 
capped  maid  admitted  him  to  a  small  library  at  the 


CASTE  THREE  65 

end  of  which  a  fire-place  gleamed  with  a  small  wood- 
fire.  Hewitt  thought,  as  he  glanced  into  the  living- 
room  on  the  other  side  of  the  hall,  that  he  had  never 
seen  such  a  beautifully  furnished  house.  The  furni- 
ture was  of  the  kind  he  had  been  accustomed  to  see 
in  the  windows  of  Marshall  Field's  on  the  few  occa- 
sions when  he  found  himself  downtown  in  Chicago. 
A  quaint  Hoosier  autumn  scene  of  beech  woods  hung 
above  the  fire-place  and  held  his  attention  for  some 
time.  He  liked  it.  He  knew  little  about  pictures, 
but  this  one  pleased  him  so  much  that  he  wondered 
who  the  artist  was.  In  sitting  down  he  had  fumbled 
his  cap  on  his  knees,  but  he  insistently  held  it  still 
when  he  became  aware  of  these  nervous  movements. 

"  Hewitt  Stevenson,  from  Smith's  book-store,"  he 
had  told  the  maid  with  dignity. 

A  little  girl  appeared  from  behind  a  large  wing- 
chair  in  which  she  had  been  sunk  with  a  book,  and 
yawned  before  she  seemed  aware  of  the  boy.  She 
examined  him  with  large,  serious,  brown  eyes  and 
walked  out,  but  paused  in  the  hall  to  call  back  in 
rippling  soft  tones :  "  Mother  knows  you  are  here, 
does  n't  she  ?  " 

Hewitt  wanted  to  smile  at  her,  but  did  not;  her 
seriousness  seemed  to  deter  him. 

"  Thank  you.     She  knows,"  he  said. 

"  You  are  to  dress  before  lunch,"  Mrs.  Stewart's 
voice  was  heard  saying  before  she  appeared  in  the 
doorway.  "  We  're  going  to  drive  to  Indianapolis  this 
afternoon.  You  are  to  put  on  your  new  serge." 


66  CASTE  THREE 

"  O  mother, — "  the  child  began  half -plaintively,  but 
she  stopped,  and  Hewitt  could  hear  her  pattering 
slowly  up  the  heavily  carpeted  stairs. 

When  the  woman  entered  the  room,  Hewitt  arose 
and  stood  gazing  at  her  as  she  drew  a  chair  closer 
to  his  and  sat  down.  He  was  breathless.  She  was, 
he  thought,  the  most  beautiful  woman  he  had  ever 
seen.  He  grew  more  embarrassed,  but  she  smiled. 
When  she  smiled  Hewitt  could  have  knelt  to  her. 
Her  half-curling  dark  hair  was  drawn  into  a  loose 
knot  rather  high  on  her  head.  Her  eyes  were  also 
dark,  and  they  held  such  depths  that  Hewitt  felt  he 
dare  not  look  into  them  for  fear  of  losing  altogether 
his  control  over  his  power  of  speech.  Beauty  of  other 
kinds  had  affected  him  in  the  past  in  this  way,  but  he 
had  never  before  seen  a  woman  whom  he  could 
honestly  call  beautiful.  It  gave  him  a  start.  He  was 
not  at  all  aware  of  her  clothes.  She  might  have  worn 
silk  or  calico ;  he  would  never  have  known.  Her  poise 
was  perfect.  She  sat  with  her  fingers  interlaced  on 
her  lap.  A  dimple  played  in  and  out  around  one 
corner  of  her  sweet  mouth  as  she  talked. 

"Mr.  Smith  sent  you?"  she  said  in  a  soft  tone 
that  thrilled  the  boy  even  more  than  the  child's  had 
done. 

"  He  —  He  said  you  wanted  to  order  some  books 
and  magazines." 

He  was  not  sure  just  what  he  had  said  the  moment 
the  words  were  out  of  his  mouth.  He  was,  indeed, 


CASTE  THREE  67 

sure  of  nothing,  except  that  he  had  never  seen  so  per- 
fect a  being. 

She  smiled. 

'  You  are  a  stranger  here?  " 

She  was  not  certain  how  she  had  guessed  it.  There 
were  a  great  many  young  men  in  Alston  whom  she 
had  never  seen,  and  certainly  many  whom  she  did  not 
know.  But  she  felt  there  was  something  different  — 
that  was  the  term  discriminating  people  always  used 
in  describing  Hewitt  —  about  this  gray-eyed,  im- 
pressed boy  sitting  opposite  her  with  his  serious  gaze 
fixed  so  steadily  upon  her. 

"I  —  from  Chicago,"  he  managed  to  say. 

"  I,  too,  came  from  Chicago,"  she  said,  with  an- 
other smile  that  brought  the  delightful  dimple  into 
play  again  and  completely  upset  the  little  equilibrium 
Hewitt  still  retained. 

It  was  only  after  she  had  given  him  the  list  of 
magazines  she  wanted  that  Hewitt  became  master  of 
himself,  during  the  mechanical  act  of  writing  down 
the  names,  and  was  able  to  impress  her  with  the  fact 
that  he  was  at  least  reasonably  intelligent.  Then 
she  subtly  led  him  into  giving  her  his  views  on  modern 
literature.  Without  realizing  that  he  was  losing  his 
embarrassment,  he  talked  fluently  to  her  of  his  own 
enthusiasm  for  some  recent  poetry  and  drama.  When 
he  stopped  and  heard  her  remark  that  she  wanted 
Galsworthy's  new  novel,  he  withdrew  into  his  former 
uncomfortable  position  and  was  terribly  afraid  that 


68  CASTE  THREE 

he  had  tired,  or  worse,  had  bored  her  with  his  conver- 
sation. 

"  Wells  has  a  corking  new  book  out,"  he  began  to 
say.  Then  he  stopped,  debated  with  himself,  and 
finally  ended  with  a  timid  glance  up  at  her  from  where 
he  was  listing  her  desires  in  his  notebook. 

"  But  I  do  not  like  Wells,1'  she  said,  smiling. 

"  You  must! "  he  burst  out.  "  He  is  the  best  of  the 
present-day  English  writers." 

"  Are  you  sure  ?  "  she  asked,  the  dimple  standing 
out  boldly.  Instantly  he  became  uncertain  just  what 
his  position  on  Wells  was.  He  could  not  remember 
what  he  had  ever  read  of  Wells. 

"  I  rather  prefer  Bennett  myself,"  she  added, 
amused  at  him,  but  not  showing  it.  Instinctively  she 
recognized  his  attitude  as  a  tribute.  Naturally,  a 
beautiful  woman  cannot  be  beautiful  for  over  thirty 
years  at  least  without  knowing  it,  and  without  realiz- 
ing just  what  a  weapon  her  beauty  is. 

In  the  end  she  chose  a  play  of  his  lauding,  several 
novels  she  had  been  only  partially  certain  about,  and 
a  new  edition  of  "  Vanity  Fair." 

"  After  all,  the  thing  will  never  be  made  more  amus- 
ing or  more  gripping  than  Thackeray  made  it,"  she 
said,  in  naming  the  last. 

"He  is  great!" 

She  laughed  outright  at  this. 

'  That  is  a  '  great '  tribute  for  such  a  harsh  young 
critic  to  give  a  dead  author,"  she  said,  as  he  rose  to 
leave. 


CASTE  THREE  69 

"  Perhaps  his  being  dead  is  what  makes  me  so  cer- 
tain," was  his  smiling  retort. 

During  the  remainder  of  the  day,  between  tasks, 
Hewitt's  mind  kept  going  back  to  this  interview  of  the 
morning.  The  exact  words  of  the  conversation  ran 
the  gantlet  of  his  self-criticism  a  hundred  times.  He 
vaguely  felt  that  he  had  not  contained  himself  enough, 
that  he  had  let  his  foolish  tongue  run  away  with  him, 
and  he  chided  himself  unnecessarily  for  blushing  and 
acting  the  booby  before  her  wonderful  beauty.  Some- 
times, in  reviewing  the  scene,  he  felt  he  had  been  too 
distant  to  be  impressive;  at  others,  he  frowned  over 
his  lack  of  dignity.  With  increasing  difficulty,  as  the 
day  advanced,  he  conjured  up  a  picture  of  her  face 
as  it  had  looked  when  she  smiled.  Once  or  twice  early 
in  the  day  a  perfect  remembrance  of  it  flashed  into 
his  mind,  but  in  the  thousandth  part  of  a  second  it  was 
gone,  and  a  blank  was  all  that  remained  when  he  tried 
to  repeat  the  trick.  He  felt  a  queer  longing  to  pass 
the  green  house,  although  he  knew  she  had  gone  to 
Indianapolis. 

The  fluffy-haired  girl  at  the  book  store  was  friendly. 
Hewitt  curtailed  her  privileges  of  being  first-on-the- 
spot  and  therefore  the  logical  one  to  make  the  ad- 
vances, however.  He  preferred  to  be  told  things  in  a 
round-about  way  by  Mr.  Smith,  or  to  find  them  out  for 
himself,  to  having  them  told  him  by  a  girl  of  no  great 
beauty  of  feature  —  compared  to  Mrs.  Stewart,  for 
instance  —  although  there  was  an  appealing  prettiness 
about  her  eyes  that  Hewitt,  robbed  of  his  contempt  for 


7o  CASTE  THREE 

all  young  girls,  might  have  felt  drawn  to.  But  he 
chose,  when  a  lull  in  the  trade  made  his  time  his  own, 
to  linger  over  the  "  weeklies,"  rather  than  to  follow  up 
her  advances.  He  might  even  be  said  to  have  snubbed 
her. 

The  other  clerk,  whose  name  Mr.  Smith  had  men- 
tioned in  introducing  Hewitt  as  Joe  Bales,  held  him- 
self rather  aloof.  He  seemed,  however,  from  what 
Hewitt  could  judge  of  his  conversations  with  various 
young  girls  and  men  and  who  wandered  in  to  talk  to 
him  during  the  day,  a  nice  enough  chap.  But  on  the 
occasions  when  Mr.  Smith  was  not  present  he  ap- 
peared to  be  attentive  to  the  fluffy-haired  girl  to  a 
marked  degree  —  marked,  that  is,  to  Hewitt,  who  was 
the  only  observer,  for  when  any  of  his  friends  came 
in  he  was  plainly  unattentive.  And  the  girl,  under- 
standing his  desire  to  make  her  inconspicuous,  honored 
it  and  kept  in  the  background. 

Hewitt's  selling  of  a  bottle  of  ink  and  some  linen 
paper  to  a  man  whose  subsequent  happiness  seemed 
to  hang  on  the  result  of  his  selection  was  his  chief 
activity  during  the  afternoon.  He  was  almost  driven 
to  wonder  why  he  was  there  at  all.  At  times  he  even 
felt  himself  in  the  way.  Also,  although  he  was  not 
prone  to  mind  being  alone,  a  twinge  of  disagreeable 
loneliness  did  steal  over  him  once  when  Joe  Bales 
became  engaged  in  a  more  than  usually  animated  con- 
versation with  three  attractive  girls  who  came  in 
ostensibly  to  buy  the  kind  of  magazines  such  girls 
would  buy,  and  lingered  to  talk  to  Joe. 


CASTE  THREE  71 

It  suddenly  occurred  to  Hewitt  that  everyone  in 
Alston  was  very  social.  In  Woody's  he  had  some- 
times been  secretly  irritated  at  the  frequency  with 
which  people,  who  insisted  on  being  social  when  he 
had  no  such  aim,  ran  in  upon  him  and  Mr.  Woody. 
Not  girls,  of  course,  except  such  serious  minded,  older 
girls  as  took  an  interest  in  his  high  school  precocity 
and  had  poetic  or  sociologic  enthusiasms  similar  to  his 
own.  But  important  people  had  paid  attention  to 
him.  Professors  stopped  to  exchange  words  with 
him;  their  children  treated  him  with  respect;  he  was 
a  fixture  at  Woody's,  a  good  worker,  an  accommodat- 
ing salesman,  an  interesting  boy. 

Hewitt  was  glad  when  Mr.  Smith  called  to  him 
from  his  desk  and  asked  him  to  type  another  letter 
for  him,  although  that  meant  a  great  deal  of  hard 
work  on  account  of  Mr.  Smith's  mentioned  \veakness. 

"  You  can  make  out  the  orders  for  those  books  and 
magazines  of  Mrs.  Stewart's,  too,"  he  was  told  after 
he  had  finished  the  letter.  "  She  brought  in  a  check 
while  you  were  out  to  lunch.  By  the  way,  she  said  she 
liked  you, —  that  you  were  intelligent." 

A  tingle  of  pleasure  traveled  along  Hewitt's  back- 
bone. Then  she  had  been  impressed  with  him! 

"  You  can  work  evenings  next  week.  After  that 
you  can  stay  two  nights  a  week,"  Mr.  Smith  men- 
tioned, and  the  implication  that  he  meant  Hewitt's 
week  to  lengthen  out  indefinitely  was  strong.  Indeed, 
that  morning  was  the  last  on  which  the  week  of  trial 
was  ever  mentioned  between  them.  "  You  can  arrange 


72  CASTE  THREE 

with  Joe  and  Miss  Rowe  as  to  which  ones.  You 
need  n't  stay  this  week.  We  're  not  very  busy. 
Getting  along  all  right  ?  " 

"  All  right,  I  guess,"  said  Hewitt. 

"  You  '11  do.  Mrs.  Stewart  knows  intelligence  when 
she  sees  it.  Half  those  boys  who  think  they  can  work 
in  a  book-store  believe  it 's  a  small  matter  whether 
they  know  one  book  from  another." 

That,  with  the  memory  of  Mrs.  Stewart's  approval, 
kept  the  feeling  of  loneliness  which  had  been  growing 
all  the  afternoon  from  returning.  Most  people  did  n't 
matter;  just  those  he  really  cared  about  did.  And 
Mrs.  Stewart  remained  for  a  long  time,  even  though 
he  saw  her  only  once  or  twice  during  the  winter,  one 
of  those  who  did  matter.  Such  beauty  could  not  be 
lightly  dimissed.  He  considered  framing  a  sentence 
to  Mr.  Smith  to  bring  forth  some  expression  of  his 
recognition  of  her  beauty,  but  the  thought  that  Mr. 
Smith  might  think  him  forward  or  ungentlemanly  in 
commenting  upon  the  appearance  of  a  customer  held 
him  back.  He  fixed  upon  openings,  such  as,  "  Who  's 
considered  the  best  looking  woman  in  Alston  ?  "  or, 
"  By  the  way,  that  Mrs.  Stewart  is  a  mighty  good 
looking  woman,  is  n't  she  ? "  These  were  to  be 
thrown  out  casually  and  with  great  complacency,  as 
though  the  thought  had  just  come  to  him  while  he 
worked.  But  he  remained  silent.  He  wondered  how 
soon  she  would  order  books  again. 

During  the  moments  before  he  was  leaving  for  the 
day  he  glanced  over  the  poetry  in  the  better  "  month- 


CASTE  THREE  73 

lies  "  and  found  one  poem  that  he  liked,  a  six-lined 
lyric  in  simple  meter  with  rhymed  couplets.  It  told 
of  the  sadness  of  a  summer  without  love.  He  read 
it  over  several  times.  He  liked  the  simplicity  of  ex- 
pression, and  the  thought  behind  the  almost  childish 
words  made  him  swallow  hard. 

"Coming  to  the  dance  to-morrow  night,  Joe?" 
called  a  voice  from  the  door. 

Joe  finished  wrapping  a  package  and  broke  the  cord 
with  a  jerk. 

"  No  money,"  he  called,  with  a  laugh. 

"  Too  bad.     Borrow  some." 

"  Credit  exhausted,"  came  the  answer. 

"  So-long.     Better  come." 

Six  o'clock  chimed  from  the  clock  above  Mr.  Smith's 
desk.  Hewitt  picked  his  cap  from  the  hook  on  the 
inside  of  the  door  leading  to  the  basement  and  started 
out. 

"  Good  night,  Mr.  Stevenson,"  said  Miss  Rowe,  and 
smiled  at  him  from  where  she  was  putting  on  her  hat. 

Joe  Bales  glanced  up  quickly  from  the  paper  he  was 
reading. 

"  Be  careful,  Ellien,"  he  said,  with  a  grin  that  did 
not  entirely  cover  his  intention  to  be  sarcastic. 

"  Good  night,"  said  Hewitt,  pretending  not  to 
notice. 

All  the  way  home,  past  the  gray-stone  post-office, 
the  neat  houses  on  Jackson  Street,  and  the  Methodist 
Church,  he  was  thinking  of  a  poem  he  wanted  to  write. 
It  was  to  be  about  a  lover  who  was  spurned  by  a 


74  CASTE  THREE 

gloriously  beautiful  woman.  Somehow  all  Hewitt's 
poems,  and  also  those  of  his  contemporaries  in  Chicago 
who  went  in  for  poetry,  were  pessimistic  affairs.  Per- 
haps he  took  his  happiness  —  and  often  he  was  very 
happy  for  whole  days  at  a  time  —  in  living,  saving 
his  sad  moments  for  written  expression.  The  man  in 
the  poem  was  hurt  by  the  disdainful  woman's  indiffer- 
ence, but  he  would  not  stop  loving  her.  Worship  of 
beauty  was  its  own  excuse  for  existence  —  or  the  lover 
might  die.  But  he  rather  liked  the  first  way.  There 
was  so  little  egotism  in  that  attitude  —  or  was  it  only 
baffled  egotism  saving  itself?  Hewitt,  of  course,  did 
not  think  of  this  last  explanation. 

"  Hello,  Hewie !  "  said  Grace  from  her  position  at 
the  front  door  as  he  climbed  the  steps.  She  was 
enveloped  in  a  large,  ugly  kitchen-apron,  and  looked 
plumper  and  more  unwieldly  than  usual.  "  Did  you 
like  your  place  this  afternoon?" 

"  It 's  all  right,  I  guess,"  he  said  moodily.  Grace 
was  so  —  so  unesthetic  in  appearance.  And  her  voice ! 
She  fairly  twanged  out  the  short  "  a  "  in  "  afternoon." 
Why  could  n't  your  relatives  be  beautiful,  he  wondered. 
Beauty  was  the  only  feminine  possession  worth  having, 
although  it  was  only  this  afternoon  that  he  had  ever 
put  it  as  strongly  as  that.  For  a  second  he  hated 
Grace.  She  was  so  ugly. 

"  Father 's  had  his  supper.  He  wanted  to  drive 
over  to  Markleville  to  see  about  a  horse." 

"  Oh,"  said  Hewitt  to  this. 

"  Supper  's  on  the  table.     Come  on  in." 


CASTE  THREE  75 

Hewitt  went  into  the  bathroom  with  its  tin  tub  in- 
cased in  wood,  its  dark  marble  lavatory,  its  wooden 
shelf  containing  a  bottle  of  crocodile  liniment, — "  For 
Man  and  Beast,"  he  noticed  on  the  label, —  and  a  bar 
of  unused  perfumed  toilet-soap.  He  was  slow  about 
getting  rid  of  the  afternoon's  grime.  He  kept  think- 
ing about  his  poem.  And  then  he  stopped  a  long  time 
to  examine  his  face  in  the  scarred  mirror  over  the 
lavatory. 

"  Come  on  to  supper,  Hewitt;  it  '11  be  cold !  "  called 
Grace. 

"  Here  's  a  card  from  Paul,"  she  told  him,  when  he 
came  into  the  dining-room. 

The  post-card  showed  the  library  of  the  University 
of  Chicago.  It  was  taken  from  the  Midway.  Hewitt 
stopped  to  identify  exactly  the  spot  at  which  the  picture 
had  been  made.  He  was  a  long  time  reading  the  card, 
despite  the  memory  of  Mrs.  Stewart's  notice  of  his 
intelligence. 

"  Found  what  you  wanted  ?  Remember  my  advice. 
Margaret  sends  love.  Paul."  So  ran  his  brother's 
brief  message. 

Hewitt  had  no  appetite  for  the  broiled  steak,  fried 
potatoes,  and  salt-rising  bread  Grace  passed  him.  He 
did  not  touch  the  pie  she  had  placed  beside  his  plate. 

"  Now  you  'd  better  eat  something,"  she  said  with 
a  frown.  "  You  have  n't  had  enough  to  keep  a 
mosquito  alive.  Eat  some  more  of  this  meat. 
Grandpa  's  had  all  he  wants,  and  it  '11  have  to  be 
thrown  away." 


76  CASTE  THREE 

After  supper  Hewitt  sat  out  on  the  porch  until  the 
electric-light  on  the  corner  glared  into  his  eyes.  Then 
he  went  upstairs  and  settled  himself  at  his  table  to 
write.  He  first  wrote  a  letter  to  Paul  in  which  he  told 
him  that  he  had  a  position  at  ten  dollars  a  week,  but 
that  he  thought  he  could  get  more  soon.  Grace  and 
his  father  were  all  right,  and  Grandpa  was  rather 
weak.  He  himself  had  had  a  fine  trip  down  from 
Chicago. 

He  felt  sure  Paul  could  not  read  his  longing  to  be 
back  in  Chicago,  even  between  the  lines. 

This  letter  addressed  and  stamped,  he  put  a  sheaf 
of  typewriting  paper  before  him  and  started  to  work 
on  his  poem,  though  he  now  had  less  heart  for  it  than 
he  had  had  earlier  in  the  evening.  He  had  great 
difficulty  with  the  first  line  and  made  four  starts  before 
it  suited  him. 

Hewitt  was  in  the  midst  of  this  act  of  composition 
when  Grace  knocked  on  his  door,  opened  it,  and  looked 
in. 

"  What  are  you  doing,  Hewie?  "  she  asked. 

Hewitt  was  nonplussed.  You  do  not  like  to  make 
the  confession  to  your  sister  that  you  are  engaged  in 
writing  a  poem. 

"  Reading,"  he  said,  shifting  the  sheets  under  his 
arm.  He  did  not  consider  this  a  lie ;  it  was  primarily 
a  defense  of  his  mature  rights  to  do  as  he  pleased 
without  being  questioned. 

"  I  wrote  to  Paul,"  he  added,  however. 

"  Did  you  ?     I  suppose  you  would  n't  like  to  go  to 


CASTE  THREE  77 

the  moving-picture  show  downtown,  would  you? 
Father  's  home." 

Her  voice  sounded  as  if  she  expected  him  to  refuse, 
and  that  drove  him  to  a  delinquent  and  forced, 
"  Ye-e-e-s,  I  '11  go."  He  had  only  three  lines  of  the 
poem  finished,  and  he  wanted  six. 

"  I  '11  be  down  in  a  minute,"  he  said. 

"  Good." 

"  What  time  does  it  begin?  " 

"  There  's  one  show  begins  at  eight." 

"  All  right,  I  '11  be  down." 


CHAPTER  V 

IN  mid-winter  Hewitt  was  again  sent  to  Mrs. 
Stewart's  to  take  an  order  for  books,  but  on  the 
occasion  of  this  visit,  because  he  had  spent  so  much 
time  since  his  first  sight  of  her  in  worshipping  her 
and  writing  hopeless  poetry  about  her, —  without  really 
feeling  at  all  hopeless, —  he  was  determined  to  be  more 
composed  and  so  was  less  amusing.  She  had  no  means 
of  knowing  why  he  gulped  awkwardly  on  being  dis- 
missed, or  that  he  wanted  to  run  back,  snatch  open  the 
door,  and  kiss  her  hand  from  a  proper  position  on  his 
knees. 

During  a  winter  whose  greatest  excitement  was 
gained  through  his  excursions  into  new  realms  of 
science  and  art,  Hewitt  gained  some  insight  into  the 
life  of  Alston,  Indiana.  He  found,  for  one  thing,  that 
the  paucity  of  youths  having  the  same  interests  as  he 
had,  was  amazing  and  saddening.  Most  of  the  boys 
he  met  during  the  first  few  months  in  Alston  cared 
about  only  one  thing  —  to  have  a  "  good  time."  They 
were  capable  of  earning  it.  They  strove  manfully  at 
their  work  in  order  to  gain  the  money  necessary  for 
this  "  good  time."  Some  of  them  were  even  am- 
bitious. They  wanted  more  money  so  that,  instead  of 
going  to  Indianapolis  in  some  one  else's  "  roadster," 

78 


CASTE  THREE  79 

they  could  some  day  go  in  their  own.  Smoking  and 
drinking  made  up  a  part  of  their  "  good  time."  They 
danced  continually,  and  had  "  dates  "  with  the  more 
popular  of  the  Alston  girls  whose  fathers  had  made 
or  inherited  money. 

But  the  crisis  of  these  "  good  times  "  were  certain 
trips  to  Indianapolis,  which  they  made  from  time  to 
time  in  pairs  or  groups,  and  from  which  they  always 
returned  home  penniless  but  exhilarated.  Hewitt 
heard  suggestive  items  concerning  these  trips  from  Joe 
Bales,  who  continued  during  the  winter  to  be  his 
fellow-workman  and  who  was  a  party  to  all  the  social 
stunts  in  which  the  younger  Alstonians  of  a  certain 
type  were  concerned.  Joe  "  went  with  "  a  girl  whose 
father  was  president  of  one  of  the  largest  banks.  He 
had  "  gone  with  "  her  ever  since  they  were  in  high 
school  together,  although  they  were  often  not  on  speak- 
ing terms,  Joe  being  a  fickle  boy  who  craved  variety. 
Joe  confided  to  Hewitt  that  eventually  he  might  marry 
her,  though  her  father  would  n't  let  them  marry  as 
long  as  Joe  showed  no  better  signs  of  being  able  to 
support  her  than  he  had  done  so  far.  Not  that  Joe 
was  worried  by  his  inability  to  support  a  wife. 

Miss  Rowe  left  in  the  early  winter,  for  some  reason 
that  Joe  seemed  to  know  about  but  did  n't  mention, 
and  the  next  girl  Mr.  Smith  hired  was  a  plain  one 
whom  neither  Hewitt  nor  Joe  liked,  and  who  was  not 
bothered  by  young  men  generally.  As  long  as  Miss 
Rowe  had  been  there  Joe  had  seemed  to  feel  that 
Hewitt  at  any  moment  might  take  it  into  his  head 


8o  CASTE  THREE 

to  be  more  than  friendly  with  the  girl,  thus  depriving 
him  of  prerogatives  unquestionably  his  up  to  that 
time.  Hewitt  was  often  disturbed  and  vaguely  dis- 
comfited by  the  long  talks  Joe  and  Miss  Rowe  had 
Behind  the  projection  where  the  basement  stairs  went 
down.  These  always  took  place  in  Mr.  Smith's 
absence.  Once  Hewitt  had  heard  them  scuffling  back 
there,  and  he  had  whistled  to  Joe  to  warn  him  that 
Mr.  Smith  was  crossing  the  street  from  Abe  Kahn's. 
They  had  had  no  previous  arrangement  as  to  this 
signal,  but  Joe  guessed  at  the  significance  of  it  and 
was  busy  unpacking  some  boxes  of  paper  when  the 
owner  arrived. 

Hewitt  resented  these  happenings.  They  made  him 
uneasy,  and  he  became  more  distant  than  ever  to  Miss 
Rowe.  He  screwed  up  his  courage  on  one  occasion 
to  remonstrate  with  Joe. 

"  Cut  it,  good  boy,"  Joe  laughed,  with  no  rancor. 

"  She  led  a  fellow  on, "Joe  told  him  confidentially 
after  her  departure.  "  She  'd  go  the  limit.  I  'm  not 
going  to  take  any  chances  with  her.  She  's  going  to 
get  somebody  in  bad  some  day." 

Hewitt  did  n't  like  these  confidences,  but  he  listened 
because  he  did  n't  want  Joe  to  think  him  silly  about 
scruples.  He  had  always  supposed  there  was  a  code 
of  honor  among  men  concerning  these  things,  but  Joe 
and  his  associates  seemed  to  have  no  such  feeling. 

"  Hello,  Joe.  Heard  the  latest  ?  Jane  Brown's  go- 
ing the  pace.  She  'd  better  watch  out,"  was  the  "  juicy 
bit  "  poured  into  Joe's  ear  within  Hewitt's  hearing  one 


CASTE  THREE  81 

day.  And  a  few  days  later  he  learned  that  Jane 
Brown  had  been  sent  East  to  school.  "  Her  mother 
found  out  some  things,  and  her  father  kicked  Clem 
Wilson  out  the  other  night,"  came  the  word  to 
Joe. 

Joe  suggested,  by  reason  of  his  growing  friendli- 
ness with  Hewitt,  that  the  two  go  together  to  Chicago 
some  week-end.  For  some  reason  Hewitt  could  not 
understand,  the  other  never  seemed  to  think  of  taking 
him  to  any  of  the  dances  in  Alston,  or  of  getting  him 
a  "  date."  "  He  never  seems  to  care  much  about 
girls,"  Joe  would  have  told  you  apologetically,  if  you 
had  inquired  why  he  acted  thus. 

Hewitt  rejected  the  offer  of  company  to  Chicago  by 
never  referring  to  it.  He  made  a  hurried  trip  to  the 
metropolis  when  Paul  was  married,  but  that  was  his 
only  journey  during  that  winter.  He  had  no  inten- 
tion of  endangering  his  college  money.  After  Mr. 
Smith  raised  his  salary  to  fifteen  dollars,  he  religiously 
saved  ten  dollars  a  week.  He  read,  or  went  to  the 
picture  shows  with  Grace  when  duty  demanded  such 
sacrifice.  He  became  more  and  more  quiet  as  the 
winter  wore  away.  Most  of  the  few  conversations 
he  had  were  with  Mr.  Smith  about  politics.  He  said 
little  at  home.  Two  or  three  times  during  the  autumn 
he  was  seized  with  a  terrible  longing  for  Chicago,  and 
once  he  asked  Mr.  Smith  to  let  him  off  for  a  week-end 
to  go;  but  he  changed  his  plans  at  the  last  minute. 
Going  was  too  much  like  bowing  to  unnecessary 
wishes.  Letsky  had  at  first  written  him  long  letters, 


82  CASTE  THREE 

but  after  the  first  few  months  these  stopped.  He 
realized  that  the  men  who  used  to  "  save  the  world  " 
in  the  bookstore  had  closed  their  circle  to  exclude  one 
who  had  gone  away.  That  was  natural,  but  he  missed 
Mr.  Woody 's  fine  talks  about  the  classics,  and  Letsky's 
tirades,  too. 

More  and  more  as  the  winter  passed  Hewitt  shut 
up  his  personality  in  a  shell  composed  principally  of 
books  and  the  thoughts  they  stimulated.  He  lived  a 
secret  life  within.  He  had  his  moments  of  intense 
excitement  over  a  new  scientific  discovery  or  a  newly 
found  torch  in  the  literary  world,  but  there  being  no 
one  to  share  these  with,  he  kept  them  to  himself  and 
lived  a  placid,  colorless  existence  —  placid,  at  least, 
to  the  observer  —  in  working  and  thinking. 

Only  at  night  in  his  room,  undisturbed  by  custom- 
ers or  peering  bystanders,  he  entered  that  fascinating 
land  of  the  fancy,  the  key  to  which  is  ever  in  the  hand 
of  the  imaginative.  Then,  in  the  manner  of  Sir 
Samuel  Pepys,  "  to  bed,"  and  up  betimes  to  begin 
again  the  round  of  a  day's  labor  which  would  add  a 
dollar  and  sixty-six  cents  to  the  savings  which,  in  their 
turn,  would  carry  him  out  of  all  this  dullness  into  the 
land  of  heart's  desire. 

One  day  in  January  Miss  Rowe  came  into  the  store 
when  neither  Joe  nor  Mr.  Smith  were  there.  The 
girl  who  had  followed  her  as  clerk  had  been  dismissed 
directly  after  the  Christmas  rush.  Eleanor  Rowe 
came  back  to  where  Hewitt  was  sitting  at  the  type- 
writer, copying  a  letter  as  complicated  and  misspelled 


CASTE  THREE  83 

as  the  first  he  had  ever  copied  for  Mr  Smith.  She 
used  the  telephone  to  talk  to  a  man  whom  she  called 
"  Teddy,"  and  then  sauntered  in  the  boy's  direction. 
She  stood  back  of  him,  with  one  elbow  on  a  pile  of 
books,  a  long  brown  fur  thrown  over  her  shoulder 
hanging  down  her  back.  Hewitt  spoke  to  her  and 
continued  his  work.  Just  as  he  was  drawing  the  sheet 
out  of  the  machine  she  sat  down  on  the  arm  of  Mr. 
Smith's  chair,  which  was  drawn  up  close,  and  swinging 
one  small,  high-heeled  shoe  back  and  forth,  began  to 
talk. 

"Where's  Joe?"  she  asked. 

"  Out  on  an  errand,"  Hewitt  said. 

"When '11  he  be  back?" 

"  Before  long,  I  guess." 

"Say,  what'd  Joe  ever  tell  you  about  me?"  She 
quizzically  examined  Hewitt's  face  at  close  range.  "  I 
don't  care  so  much  about  Joe.  He  's  awfully  fickle. 
He  's  all  right  when  there  's  nobody  else.  He  's  been 
going  with  Gretchen  Harrow  since  he  and  Helen 
broke  it  off,  has  n't  he  ?  Say,  did  he  ever  tell  you  any- 
thing about  me?  " 

She  looked  down  at  him  with  a  puzzled,  pleading 
expression  in  her  blue  eyes  that  disarmed  him.  He 
felt  she  did  care  about  Joe.  Nevertheless,  he  wished 
she  would  go.  He  did  n't  want  to  talk  to  her.  He 
slipped  another  sheet  into  his  machine  and  went  to 
work  again. 

"  Mr.  Stevenson,  did  he  say  anything  about  me?" 
reiterated  the  girl. 


84  CASTE  THREE 

Hewitt  looked  up  at  her  with  a  touch  of  sympathy 
in  his  gaze. 

"  No,  he  has  never  said  anything  about  you  to  me. 
Joe  's  a  nice  boy.  But  listen.  If  I  were  you,  I  be- 
lieve I  'd  let  him  alone." 

She  slid  down  from  the  chair  and  stood  with  her 
arm  touching  his  shoulder.  Then  she  leaned  over  him 
and  put  her  lips  close  to  his  ear.  He  moved  restlessly 
and  stood  up.  She  drew  away  and  pouted. 

"  What  I  was  going  to  say  was,"  she  began,  with 
lowered  eyes,  "  why  don't  you  come  out  some  time?  " 
The  question  did  not  sound  brazen  as  she  said  it. 
Rather  it  was  a  timid  attempt  to  soften  his  apparent 
hardness.  She  seemed  shy  in  putting  it. 

Hewitt  frowned. 

"  Why,  I  —  I  don't  go  out  with  girls.  I  'm  too 
busy." 

"Busy?     Don't  you  like  girls?" 

She  came  closer  to  him.  He  started  to  move  back 
again  from  her,  but  suddenly  she  turned  her  face  up 
to  his  and  spoke  quickly,  breathlessly. 

"  Kiss  me,  Hewitt,"  she  said. 

Her  lips  were  on  his  before  he  could  push  her  away. 
Indeed,  for  a  long  time  afterward  he  wondered 
guiltily  if  he  had  tried  to  push  her  away.  For  a 
second,  spellbound,  he  stood  motionless  while  she  clung 
to  him,  her  face  hot  against  his.  The  next  instant  he 
had  thrust  her  angrily  from  him.  He  walked  to  the 
front  of  the  store,  warm  and  red.  Presently  she  fol- 
lowed him. 


CASTE  THREE  85 

"  Not  sore,  are  you  ?  "  she  asked  as  she  came  up  to 
him.  Her  voice  had  the  same  appealing  tone  she  had 
used  in  speaking  about  Joe.  "  Come  out  some  time, 
will  you  ?  " 

As  she  reached  the  door,  Joe  Bales  swung  in.  He 
was  laughing  and  he  patted  her  on  the  shoulder. 
When  he  went  back  to  hang  up  his  hat,  she  followed 
him.  Joe  jested  with  her,  and,  still  laughing  and 
talking,  they  went  back  of  the  stairs.  A  moment  later 
Mr.  Smith  came  in  unheard  at  the  alley-door.  He 
stood  looking  at  them  a  moment.  The  girl  wandered 
carelessly  toward  Hewitt,  but  Mr.  Smith  caught  Joe 
by  the  arm. 

"  Look  here,  Joe,  you  need  n't  come  back  to-morrow. 
I  warned  you  before.  I  'm  not  going  to  have  any  such 
doings  in  my  store.  You  get  out ! "  There  was  a 
finality  in  his  tone  that  prevented  Joe  from  arguing 
the  matter. 

"  All  right,"  Joe  said,  with  a  complacency  meant  to 
mislead  his  employer  as  to  his  real  feelings.  "  That 
suits  me.  You  can  pay  me  now."  But  as  Mr.  Smith 
came  back  from  the  cash-register  with  the  money,  he 
dropped  his  blithe  carelessness  and  spoke  seriously. 
"  Say,  Mr.  Smith,  I  don't  want  to  leave.  I  'm  not 
so  bad.  I  swear  this  '11  be  the  last  time  I  '11  even 
get  near  that  girl.  She  's  the  wrong  kind,  anyway. 
I  did  appreciate  your  chucking  her  and  not  me  before. 
Look  here,  if  this  was  Blake,  you  'd  give  him  another 
chance.  Try  me  another  week,  will  you  ?  I  '11  prove 
that  I  'm  straight  with  you." 


86  CASTE  THREE 

Joe's  pleading  was  all  in  vain.  Presently  he  took 
his  money  and  walked  to  the  front  of  the  store,  his 
carefree  air  regained.  He  waited  until  Hewitt  had 
finished  with  a  customer.  Miss  Rowe  had  already 
gone. 

"I'm  fired,  damn  it!"  he  told  him.     "It's  that 

girl." 

Hewitt  was  sorry.  He  shook  Joe's  hand  and  tried 
to  cheer  him  up. 

"  Try  out  at  Preston's.  They  '11  be  taking  on  some 
men  before  long  now."  He  hesitated.  "  That  was 
a  shame  about  that  girl.  You  let  her  alone,  Joe." 

Before  Joe  crossed  the  street  to  Becker's  cigar-store 
he  had  become  his  old  jaunty  self  again.  This  jaunti- 
ness  was  no  pose. 

"  I  '11  let  you  know,  Stevenson,  when  I  get  some- 
thing," he  had  said  in  leaving. 

"  If  you  get  hard  up — "  suggested  Hewitt 

"  You  betcha !     I  '11  come  around.     Much  obliged." 

The  affair  ended  to  Hewitt's  advantage,  although 
he  felt  guilty  about  the  five  dollars  increase  Mr.  Smith 
offered  him  to  do  the  work  that  he  and  Joe  had  done 
before.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  Hewitt  had  done  most 
of  it  right  along.  His  remembrance  of  the  girl's 
kissing  him  only  a  few  minutes  before  the  incident 
that  had  ended  in  Joe's  dismissal  was  the  cause  of  his 
guilty  twinge.  Of  course  it  had  not  been  his  fault, 
and  yet — .  The  twinge  was  not  made  gentler  by  a 
scarcely  acknowledged  admission  that  he  had  liked 
the  kiss. 


CASTE  THREE  87 

"  Business  won't  amount  to  much  after  the  last  of 
this  month,"  Mr.  Smith  explained.  "  We  '11  get  some 
high-school  girls  to  help  in  the  school-book  rush  the 
end  of  the  month.  If  you  feel  we  can  get  along  with- 
out another  man,  Hewitt,  all  right.  If  you  want  one, 
we  '11  get  one.  I  think  you  can  do  all  the  heavier 
work,  and  we  can  get  a  woman.  How  about  it?  " 

Hewitt  thought  he  could  manage.  He  agreed  to 
stay  every  night  until  eight. 

Mr.  Smith  secured  a  woman,  a  steady,  unimagin- 
ative person,  Hewitt  decided,  with  his  quick  jumping 
at  conclusions  where  strangers  were  concerned.  She 
had  a  little  girl  who  came  to  the  store  after  school  and 
waited  until  six  for  her  mother. 

The  town,  with  its  peculiar  interests  and  its  neces- 
sities for  existence,  might  as  well  not  have  been,  as 
far  as  Hewitt  was  concerned.  To  him  it  was  a  place 
in  which  to  earn  money,  in  order  that  one  might  leave 
it.  Of  its  life  he  knew  little,  except  in  so  far  as  it 
swung  the  inhabitants  into  his  circle  in  Smith's  store. 
Into  that  life  of  its  people  he  entered, —  that  part  of 
their  life  in  which  they  were  readers  of  books,  mag- 
azines, and  newspapers,  and  purchasers  of  office-sup- 
plies, stationery,  and  sporting  goods, —  with  enough 
zest  to  persuade  the  owner  of  the  store  that  he  was 
invaluable  as  an  assistant.  When  Hewitt  was  in 
charge  that  gentleman  felt  free  to  pursue  other  business 
for  days  at  a  time,  certain  that  the  traditional  courtesy 
of  Smith's  would  remain  intact.  What  was  done 
under  the  boy's  management  was  thoroughly  done,  and 


88  CASTE  THREE 

gradually  the  responsibility  of  the  establishment  slipped 
upon  his  shoulders,  though  always  subject  to  the  au- 
thority of  the  owner. 

Real  study  Hewitt  saved  for  evenings  after  eight, 
when  he  was  free,  and  for  Sundays.  At  the  store 
he  kept  up  his  current  reading. 

Of  Miss  Rowe  he  saw  nothing.  Joe  borrowed  some 
money  from  him,  after  finding  that  he  could  n't  get 
into  Preston's  until  March.  This  young  man  wan- 
dered in  intermittently  during  February  with  his 
stories  of  dances,  bob-sled  parties,  fraternity  smokers, 
and  girls.  Hewitt  grew  fond  of  Joe,  who  was  matter- 
of-fact  but  rather  clever  in  a  clownish  sort  of  way. 

Hewitt  seldom  found  a  mode  of  expression  open  to 
himself.  He  lived  a  suppressed  existence,  missing 
poignantly,  as  at  first,  the  talks  he  had  been  wont  to 
have  in  Chicago  with  men  of  keen  minds.  He  some- 
times felt  handicapped  at  being  twenty,  with  college 
postponed  a  year.  At  times  a  vast  discontent  with 
life  in  general, —  its  uneven  distributions  of  favor,  its 
injustice,  its  hardships, —  and  with  his  father  in  par- 
ticular, whose  refusal  to  help  him  through  an  academic 
course  rankled  in  moments  of  depression,  surged  over 
him  and  left  a  scum  of  hate  that  only  a  large  dose  of 
tramping  through  the  dark  night-streets  could  dissolve. 

Blake  Smith,  skimming  his  way  through  Wisconsin, 
became  the  source  of  a  great  deal  of  wonder  to  him. 
He  was  certain  that  Blake,  left  to  himself,  would  have 
settled  down  in  Alston  with  no  thought  above  earning 
enough  to  furnish  him  with  spending  money, —  just 


CASTE  THREE  89 

as  Joe  Bales  did.  But  spurred  on  by  his  father's  am- 
bitions for  him  and  a  community  feeling  that  college 
was  the  thing,  even  though  one  got  no  more  out  of  it 
than  social  prestige  and  a  bevy  of  friends  who  might 
prove  valuable  at  some  future  time  and  who  contrib- 
uted to  the  pleasures  of  being  young  and  non-self-sup- 
porting, he  made  his  way  back  to  the  university  year 
after  year,  came  home  gay  and  care-free  for  vacations, 
and  enjoyed  himself  at  home  and  abroad. 

Mr.  Smith  talked  a  great  deal  about  Blake,  about 
his  ambitions  for  him  and  the  conduct  of  his  life,  to 
Hewitt. 

"  He  can  return  to  Alston  and  practice  law,  after 
he  gets  a  degree  at  Harvard,  and  make  good  in  his 
home  state.  It 's  all  right  for  some  of  the  youngsters 
to  go  to  the  city,  but  there  's  a  big  chance  for  Blake 
to  make  good  right  here.  He  has  the  advantage  of 
money  and  family  back  of  him.  The  men  who  con- 
stitute the  government  of  this  state  come  from  the 
smaller  cities  every  time.  There  's  a  reason  for  it. 
In  a  city,  appearances  make  a  lot  of  difference;  in  a 
smaller  place,  you  have  to  have  the  real  goods  on 
you." 

Hewitt  did  n't  believe  this.  He  was  firm  in  his 
faith  that  it  was  only  in  cities,  where  you  had  to  stand 
on  your  own  feet  and  not  on  your  father's  wealth  and 
position, —  on  an  inference  of  "like  father,  like  son," 
—  that  a  man  had  his  real  worth  brought  out.  He 
believed  in  the  democracy  of  cities.  He,  himself,  had 
felt  more  important  in  Chicago  than  in  Alston.  The 


90  CASTE  THREE 

big  men  went  to  the  big  places,  where  the  scope  of 
power  was  greater. 

The  aureole  around  the  head  of  Chicago  did  not 
decrease  in  brilliancy.  New  York  was  a  dim  place 
where  ships  came  to  land  and  where  Greenwich  Village, 
a  highly  colored  but  spurious  Bohemia,  existed ;  where 
books  and  magazines  were  published ;  where  you  trav- 
eled when  you  were  rich.  But  he  knew  Chicago.  He 
knew  there  were  men,  like  Letsky  and  Mr.  Woody 
and  brilliant  university  men,  who  did  things  not  for 
money,  but  for  purposes  which  had  nothing  to  do  with 
their  material  welfare.  There  were  men  who  did  sci- 
entific research  for  an  unappreciative  world,  leaders  in 
their  field.  One  Chicago  University  man  had  written 
several  novels,  another  had  produced  some  fine  poetic 
dramas,  and  at  least  one  had  produced  a  successful 
prose  drama.  Hewitt  knew  that  these  men  lived  on 
the  south  side  of  Chicago.  The  thought  kept  him  busy 
with  his  books.  The  big  men  lived  in  the  cities,  Mr. 
Smith  to  the  contrary  notwithstanding. 

Ernestine  Smith  dashed  into  the  store  at  intervals 
to  see  her  father.  She  was  a  pretty  girl,  small, 
piquante,  with  a  pouting  mouth  her  father  never  tried 
to  resist.  She  drove  an  electric  automobile  that  her 
father  had  given  her  when  she  graduated  from  high 
school.  She  teased  him,  petted  him,  and  demanded 
things  of  him.  He  was  even  prouder  of  her  inability 
to  do  anything  except  amuse  herself  than  he  was  of 
Blake.  "  Now  when  Ernestine  gets  married  — ,"  his 
favorite  expression  when  talking  about  her,  always 


CASTE  THREE  91 

brought  a  smile  to  Hewitt's  eyes.  The  boys  in  Joe's 
set  hovered  around  her  in  turn.  Joe  always  referred 
to  "  Ernestine's  new  case." 

Miss  Smith  seldom  noticed  Hewitt,  but  he  was  not 
offended  at  not  being  treated  with  the  same  consid- 
eration as  marked  her  attitude  toward  Joe.  Joe  was 
in  her  set.  He  belonged  to  the  best  local  fraternity. 
He  was  her  kind. 

Hewitt  recognized,  without  giving  the  matter  much 
thought  at  first,  that  he  seemed  not  to  be  anyone's  kind 
in  Alston.  In  the  autumn  he  had  been  superior  to 
this  distinction.  He  had  not  wanted  to  be  anyone's 
kind  —  in  Alston.  So  back  to  his  books  he  went. 

One  March  day,  bright  with  a  promise  of  spring, 
Hewitt  burst  the  bonds  of  his  silence.  He  and  Mr. 
Smith  were  standing  over  a  table  of  new  novels  near 
the  front  door. 

"  Rotten  lot  of  novels,"  Hewitt  exploded,  with  a 
laugh. 

"  Oh,  not  so  bad.  What 's  the  matter  with  them, 
Hewitt  —  or  with  you  ?  Grouchy  ?  " 

"  Not  grouchy,  at  least.  But  '  spring  has  came/  as 
all  the  poets  who  break  into  the  '  Linotype  '  say,  and 
I  'm  ready  to  let  loose  on  the  American  novelist  and 
the  American  public." 

"  H'm,"  commented  his  auditor.     "  Plunge  ahead." 

"  Well,  take  that!  "  Hewitt  pointed  to  a  new  book 
by  a  popular  author  whose  supply  could  never  catch 
up  with  the  demand.  One  or  two  novels  a  year  slid 
from  his  facile  pen,  to  the  disgust  of  the  critics  and 


92  CASTE  THREE 

the  delight  of  the  buyers  of  books.  "  That 's  so  poor 
it 's  a  shame  to  charge  a  dollar  thirty-five  for  it. 
Cheap,  trashy,  misleading,  sentimental,  romantic  rot! 
It  has  the  same  relation  to  good  literature  that  the 
'  Alger '  books  have  to  real  child  classics. 

"  Which  reminds  me  of  a  story  the  boys  tell  about 
the  young  Hesler  boy  —  the  one  the  youngsters  in  our 
neighborhood  call  '  Reading  Hesler.'  He  borrowed 
five  *  Alger '  books  from  Jim  Inwood  one  night,  and 
took  back  the  whole  five  early  next  morning.  He  said 
he  had  read  three  the  night  before,  and  the  remaining 
two  that  morning  before  breakfast.  How  's  that  for 
a  record  for  the  '  Alger '  classics  ?  " 

Hewitt  stopped  to  laugh,  before  he  continued  his 
tirade  against  the  American  novelist. 

"  The  trouble  with  the  American  novelist  is  that  he 
wants  to  keep  people  from  thinking,  instead  of  making 
them  think." 

"  All  right.  That 's  why  Ernestine  reads.  She 
wants  to  stop  thinking  for  a  minute." 

Hewitt  flushed  in  the  effort  to  keep  from  expressing 
his  opinion  of  Ernestine's  brain  capacity. 

"  People  want  to  be  entertained,"  Mr.  Smith  went 
on. 

"  That 's  what  is  the  matter  with  this  country.  Peo- 
ple are  so  anxious  to  be  entertained  that  their  minds 
will  atrophy  from  disuse  in  another  generation." 

"  H'm." 

'  There  are  some  intelligent  people  in  this  town  who 
prefer  a  good  book  to  a  poor  one,  but  the  average  per- 


CASTE  THREE  93 

son  wants  some  light,  frothy,  '  entertaining '  piece  of 
nonsense  that  will  make  life  look  beastly  bad  or  an- 
gelically good.  They  don't  want  the  truth." 

Mr.  Smith  sold  a  dictionary  to  a  customer,  while 
Hewitt's  disgust  with  the  reading  public  grew  hotter. 

"  Hurrah  for  Ho  wells  ?  "  questioned  Mr.  Smith, 
when  he  returned  to  listen  to  his  clerk. 

"  You  're  right.  If  we  had  a  few  more  real  seek- 
ers after  truth  in  this  country  —  why,  England  has 
more  to  the  square  inch  than  we  have  to  the  —  the 
state!" 

"  H'm.  But  they  're  not  bright  enough  over  there 
to  pay  their  industrial  workers  a  living  wage." 

"  Neither  are  we.  And  when  we  do,  it 's  only 
because  we  're  so  prosperous  that  we  're  ashamed  to 
starve  people  in  a  new  country  that 's  been  running 
over  with  natural  resources  for  a  few  generations. 
What  we  need  is  a  good  dose  of  socialism." 

Hewitt  was  getting  excited.  This  violent  objection 
to  current  novels,  to  the  selfishness  of  the  rich,  to  any 
number  of  things  no  one  had  ever  heard  him  mention, 
had  been  boiling  deep  in  his  system  for  six  months 
with  no  escape.  He  released  it  now  in  a  cloud  of 
steam. 

This  display  was  to  Mr.  Smith  what  his  daughter's 
novels  were  to  her  —  entertaining.  He  thrust  the  con- 
ventional outlook  at  Hewitt,  explained  human  nature 
to  his  own  satisfaction,  and,  to  the  scorn  of  the  young 
iconoclast,  lauded  American  institutions. 

"  Tradition  's  the  thing,  Son.     Why,  when  I  go  to 


94  CASTE  THREE 

the  Methodist  church  and  sit  there  Sunday  after  Sun- 
day listening  to  sermons  preached  on  Bible  texts  and 
spoken  in  English  that  would  give  your  delicate  nerves 
the  shivers, —  it 's  so  Hoosierish,  full  of  '  ain't's  '  and 
'  folks '  and  so  on,  I  don't  think  much  about  whether 
that  church's  doctrines  are  modern  or  not  The  main 
thing  I  think  about,  when  I  think  about  such  things 
at  all,  is  that  the  Methodist  church  is  a  good  old  insti- 
tution that 's  stood  the  wear  and  tear  of  time  and 
does  a  lot  of  good  in  the  world.  My  father  and  my 
grandfather,  and  some  others  before  that,  belonged 
to  the  Methodist  church.  There  's  a  lot  in  tradition 
you  '11  never  learn  till  you  're  middle-aged,  Son.  And 
unless  you  open  your  mind,  you  're  the  kind  that  may 
never  learn  at  all." 

"  Tradition  is  the  stumbling  block  to  progress,"  re- 
torted Hewitt.  "  The  fact  that  our  fathers  did  a 
thing  such  and  such  a  way  is  the  very  reason  why 
we  should  n't.  If  the  Puritans  had  been  satisfied  to 
let  Charles  the  First  do  as  he  pleased,  as  their  fathers 
allowed  some  of  the  others  to  do,  we  would  n't  have 
had  parliamentary  control  as  soon  as  we  did." 

"  H'm !  I  can't  argue  English  history.  Can't  re- 
member it.  Stick  to  America,  and  I  can  understand 
it  —  perhaps." 

Hewitt  laughed. 

"If  our  fathers  had  thought  England  was  good 
enough  for  them,  you  would  n't  be  living  in  comfort 
in  Alston,  Indiana,  right  now.  They  didn't  stick  to 
traditions." 


CASTE  THREE  95 

"  Perhaps  they  were  sticking  to  some  traditions," 
Mr.  Smith  affirmed.  "  Anyway,  they  brought  a  good 
many  with  them." 

"  Squarely  caught,"  Hewitt  admitted.  "  But  what 
we  remember  them  for  are  those  they  broke.  Then 
there 's  this  about  traditions,  Mr.  Smith.  There  '11 
always  be  plenty  of  non-thinkers  of  lethargic  back- 
bone to  see  that  traditions  are  well-guarded.  What 
every  society  needs  is  a  group  which  is  interested  in 
picking  to  pieces  the  traditions  their  fathers  found 
satisfactory  and  throwing  away  the  bad  parts.  We 
need—" 

Out  of  an  automobile  stepped  a  tall  young  woman 
of  perhaps  twenty-five  or  more,  dressed  very  smartly 
and  trailing  a  fur  over  her  arm.  Ernestine  Smith 
jumped  out,  too,  and  the  tall  girl  flung  one  arm  care- 
lessly over  Ernestine's  shoulder.  The  girl  who  was 
driving  the  car  laughed  at  something  they  tossed  back 
at  her. 

There  was  something  very  attractive  about  the  tall 
girl,  despite  her  intimacy  with  Ernestine.  Under  or- 
dinary circumstances  this  would  have  prejudiced 
Hewitt  against  her.  He  stopped  his  speech  about  what 
America  needs  to  protect  her  against  the  ogre  who 
pursues  the  young  and  causes  them  to  turn  and  stick 
their  tongues  out  in  childish  irritation  at  its  enor- 
mously potent  tentacles,  and  looked  at  her.  She  was 
not  beautiful,  judged  by  standards  set  by  placid  beau- 
ties enchanting  of  feature  and  poised  in  the  knowledge 
of  woman's  most  powerful  asset,  or  by  the  standard 


96  CASTE  THREE 

set  by  Mrs.  Stewart,  for  example.  But  the  individ- 
uality of  her  clothing  and  its  expensive  simplicity,  to- 
gether with  the  natural  distinction  of  her  tall,  almost 
thin  figure,  drew  eyes,  where  Mrs.  Stewart's  placidity 
would  have  remained  unnoticed.  Then,  once  you  had 
looked  carefully  at  her  face,  you  forgot  standards  of 
beauty.  The  clear-eyed  animation  of  her  expression, 
the  personal  tribute  in  her  glance,  her  soul, —  as  Hewitt 
afterward  took  to  calling  that  something  alive  in  her 
which  drew  people  to  her, —  shone  upon  you  and 
blinded  you  to  the  purely  physical. 

Not  that  Hewitt  was  aware  of  all  these  things  on 
the  first  occasion  of  seeing  her.  He  merely  stopped 
talking  and  looked  at  her,  acknowledging  her  attrac- 
tive. 

"  Here  's  Mary,  Dad !  "  Ernestine  was  excited. 
"  We  've  just  brought  her  down  from  the  train." 

"  Hello,  Mary !  "  Mr.  Smith  squeezed  her  hand  cor- 
dially and  looked  nearly  as  glad  as  Ernestine  at  seeing 
her.  She  held  his  hand  while  she  whispered  words 
that  everyone  could  hear  into  his  ear. 

"  Fatter  than  ever !  " 

Mr.  Smith  beamed  complacently,  while  Ernestine 
and  Mary  laughed  heartily. 

Hewitt  effaced  himself,  but  he  could  hear  the  girl 
deriding  Mr.  Smith  for  all  his  weaknesses  in  a  way 
to  make  him  proud  of  possessing  them, —  the  little  idio- 
syncrasies he  cherished  with  an  egotism  that  made 
them  seem  deserving  of  praise. 

"  He  still  is  wearing  his  hat,  Ernestine  darling ! " 


CASTE  THREE  97 

Mary  told  his  daughter,  hugging  her.  "  Has  he  had 
it  off  since  I  left  Alston  ?  It 's  the  same  one  he  had 
last  summer,  I  remember.  It  was  brown,  and  this 
one  is  brown.  Has  he  no  shame  ?  Does  n't  he  ever 
buy  a  new  one?  " 

Mr.  Smith  continued  to  beam. 

"  Money,  Dad,  money,"  Ernestine  demanded. 
"  Mary  has  n't  had  any  lunch ;  so  we  '11  run  over  to 
the  Grand  and  get  something." 

Her  father  put  a  bill  into  her  hand,  and  she  and  the 
tall  girl  hastened  out  to  the  automobile,  with  a  wave 
for  a  generous  man.  Hewitt  could  hear  them  laugh- 
ing as  the  car  started  off. 

Mr.  Smith  was  still  cheerful  over  his  bout  with  the 
visitor,  and  presently  he  went  back  to  where  Hewitt 
was  working. 

"  Why  did  n't  you  stay  up  front  there,  Hewitt  ? 
That  was  Mary  Young.  She  's  been  in  California  for 
the  winter.  Just  came  home  to-day.  She 's  lived 
here  off  and  on  with  the  Trimbles  ever  since  she  grad- 
uated from  some  girl's  college  in  the  East.  She  prac- 
tically lives  with  the  Trimbles, —  Dr.  Jimmy,  you 
know.  Her  mother  's  married  again  and  lives  in  Cal- 
ifornia; so  Mary  stays  here  the  greater  part  of  the 
time.  Jolly  girl." 

Later  in  the  afternoon,  when  Hewitt  was  helping 
Mrs.  Chancellor  fill  some  orders  for  office-supplies, 
Ernestine  and  Mary  Young  came  back. 

"Where's  dad?"  Ernestine  half-pouted  to  Hewitt. 

Mary  leaned  over  and  kissed  her  on  the  ear. 


98  CASTE  THREE 

"  I  don't  believe  he  has  entirely  disappeared,  dear. 
You  '11  find  him." 

Ernestine  jerked  away  pettishly. 

"  Where  is  he,  Mr.  Stevenson?  " 

"  He  left  about  an  hour  ago.  I  think  he  went  to  the 
bank." 

Ernestine  turned  away. 

"  You  might  thank  the  young  man,"  she  was  re- 
minded. 

"  O  Mary,  you  make  me  tired.  Thanks,"  she  turned 
to  say  to  Hewitt,  however,  with  the  pout  breaking  into 
a  smile. 

"  Who  's  the  boy  you  asked  ?  "  he  heard  Mary  ask 
as  they  went  out. 

Hewitt  reddened  as  he  tied  up  the  last  order  and 
gave  it  to  the  delivery-boy.  He  approved  of  Mary 
Young.  She  was  n't  Ernestine's  type  at  all. 

A  day  or  two  later  he  was  discussing  a  book  of 
poetry  with  a  teacher. 

"  It 's  an  anthology,"  he  was  saying.  "  It 's  fairly 
well  selected.  Five  years  ago  an  American  publisher 
would  n't  have  risked  an  anthology  of  recent  American 
verse.  This  is  a  good  sign." 

Mary  Young  had  come  in  while  he  was  talking. 
She  hurried,  with  her  graceful  stride,  to  Mr.  Smith's 
desk.  She  was  dressed,  Hewitt  observed,  in  a  close- 
cut  blue  suit  and  a  small,  veiled  hat. 

Hewitt  sold  the  book.  From  the  cash  register  Mr. 
Smith  beckoned  to  him. 

"  Hewitt,   I   want   you   to  meet  Mary,"   he   said. 


CASTE  THREE  99 

"  Hewitt  Stevenson,  Mary  Young.  He  's  new  since 
you  were  here,  Mary.  He  's  a  Chicago  product.  He 
thinks  he  knows  a  lot." 

They  all  laughed. 

"  You  see,  I  asked  Mr.  Smith  to  introduce  us,"  ex- 
plained Mary.  "  I  hate  to  think  there  is  anyone  of 
importance  in  Alston  whom  I  don't  know." 

Hewitt,  in  his  embarrassment,  took  her  jest  about 
his  importance  seriously. 

"  I  'm  —  I'm  not  exactly  what  you  'd  call  '  impor- 
tant '  in  Alston,"  he  apologized.  She  must  n't  be  .de- 
ceived about  his  valre  to  this  city  of  his  temporary 
adoption.  Ernestine,  for  instance,  who  was  evidently 
her  devotee,  had  a  very  certain  idea  of  his  unimpor- 
tance. 

"  Don't  say  it !  "  she  warned  him,  with  a  smile, 
that  was  full  of  understanding.  "  Anyone  who  has 
b-r-a-i-n-s  " —  she  spelled  the  word  — "  is  important 
anywhere  in  the  world.  Good-bye,"  she  said  to  Mr. 
Smith.  Then  turning  to  Hewitt :  "  I  want  to  lose  my- 
self for  an  afternoon  in  that  soothing  country  con- 
tained between  the  covers  of  Harper's  Magazine. 
Get  me  one,  will  you?  Thank  you.  I  '11  be  calmly 
optimistic  in  an  hour." 

"  You're  not  pessimistic  now  ?  "  Hewitt  inquired, 
with  a  solicitude  which  was  not  forced. 

"  Never!  Who  would  like  me  if  I  allowed  myself 
the  pleasures  of  pessimism  ?  " 

"  I  would,"  he  wanted  to  say,  but  aside  from  the 
childishness  of  the  assertion,  he  feared  to  presume  on 


ioo  CASTE  THREE 

the  slightness  of  their  acquaintance.  Hewitt  was  not 
a  plunger. 

After  that  he  thought  of  Mary  a  great  deal  for 
several  days.  Indeed,  she  usurped  Mrs.  Stewart's 
place  as  the  center  of  his  personal  thought.  The  next 
time  she  came  in,  however,  she  was  in  blithe  conver- 
sation with  Ernestine  and  some  of  her  friends.  They 
were  all  younger  than  Mary,  and  hung  upon  her  words. 
She  nodded  to  Hewitt,  but  did  not  stop  to  speak  to 
him.  He  turned  quickly  to  pick  up  a  book  he  had 
knocked  from  a  shelf  when  she  entered.  He  was  dis- 
appointed and  was  inclined  to  hate  Ernestine.  Indeed, 
his  hatred  of  her  as  a  silly,  brainless  little  snob  flashed 
over  him  in  a  fiery  wave.  He  was  so  certain  that 
Mary's  not  talking  to  him  was  due  to  her!  But  he 
fought  back  the  fury  that  for  a  moment  enveloped 
him.  Instinctively  he  felt  sure  that  Mary  Young 
would  never  be  influenced  by  Ernestine's  ideas.  What 
had  he  expected?  Surely  not  that  she  should  stop 
to  converse  with  him,  a  stranger,  whenever  she  came 
into  the  store.  Yet  he  had  hoped  for  that,  he  knew. 

That  night  Hewitt  did  an  unprecedented  thing  —  he 
read  the  society  column  of  the  newspaper.  He  did  it 
surreptitiously  in  his  own  room,  and  he  found  an  item 
announcing  a  bridge-party  at  the  Trimbles  for  Mary 
Young,  "  who  until  recently  has  been  with  her  mother 
in  California." 

His  asking  Grace  at  supper  if  she  had  ever  heard 
of  Mary  Young  brought  a  gleam  of  dislike  into  his 
sister's  eyes. 


CASTE  THREE  101 

"  Yes,  I  know  who  she  is.  Everybody  does.  She  's 
been  in  California.  She  lives  with  the  Trimbles  over 
on  Twelfth.  Why?" 

"  She  comes  over  to  Smith's  with  Ernestine  —  that 's 
all.  I  was  just  wondering." 

Grace  looked  suspiciously  at  him.  She  did  n't  like 
Mary  Young.  She  had  seen  her  downtown  and  in 
the  roadster  with  Tom  Brandon  several  times  during 
the  summer  before.  She  could  not  have  told  you  why 
she  did  not  like  Mary.  She  had  those  extremely  firm 
prejudices  for  and  against  people  which  were  always 
founded  on  the  most  trivial  items  observed  at  first 
glance.  And  she  never  changed.  The  origin  of  her 
dislike  for  Mary  may  have  been  a  hat  which  Mary 
had  worn  quite  unsuspectingly  long  before,  or  it 
may  have  been  Mary's  association  with  Tom  Brandon. 
Every  one  knew  Tom's  weaknesses,  and  Grace's  prin- 
ciples would  have  been  all  for  punishing  him  for 
them. 

Grace  was  an  assiduous  reader  of  the  "  society " 
column  of  the  daily  paper.  She  knew  the  names  and 
membership  of  every  club  in  Alston,  and  their  number 
was  legion.  She  wondered  vociferously  whenever 
some  one  who  was  supposed  to  be  invited  some  place 
was  not  asked.  She  followed  the  list  of  guests  at 
functions  painstakingly,  and  wondered.  She  knew 
more  about  the  actual  goings  and  comings  of  Mary 
Young  than  Hewitt  would  ever  know.  Her  disap- 
proval of  the  Alstonians  who  danced,  played  bridge, 
and  went  to  parties,  was  intense  and  sincere.  The 


102  CASTE  THREE 

Methodist  church  was  firm  in  its  stand  against  these 
vices.     It  was  not  firmer  than  this  member. 

Hewitt  saw  her  disapproval  of  Mary  Young  and  he 
never  referred  to  her  again. 


CHAPTER  VI 

FOR  twenty  years  Hewitt  Stevenson  had  been 
gathering  impressions.  The  process  was  for  the 
most  part  subconscious.  What  came,  came.  He  was 
not  at  all  an  active  agent  in  the  harvest;  his  passivity 
was  colossal  and  unprickable  in  that,  as  in  other  direc- 
tions. He  was  an  embryonic  thinker.  His  thoughts 
were  not  worth  much  to  other  people,  but  were  greatly 
to  his  credit.  Young  adolescents  who  have  this  desire 
to  think,  we  designate  as  dreamers,  and  so  are  done 
with  them.  They  are  rather  a  nuisance. 

Managing  a  book-store  under  a  man  who  had  owned 
a  book-store  in  Alston  ever  since  there  had  been  one 
to  own,  did  not  consume  one  fourth  of  Hewitt's  mental 
energy.  He  did  n't  have  to  think  much.  He  just  did 
things  with  his  hands  and  a  corner  of  his  mind.  Un- 
der more  favorable  guidance  and  a  more  lucid  under- 
standing on  the  part  of  mature  persons  who  were  in 
close  contact  with  his  physical  existence,  but  who  had 
no  conception  of  the  seething  of  his  mental  life,  he 
would  have  groped  less  among  the  impressions  hurling 
themselves  into  his  perceptions.  He  would  have  ar- 
ranged, catalogued,  discarded,  preserved,  and  discrim- 
inated among  them.  Deprived  of  sympathetic  help  he 
buried  himself  in  himself.  Had  he  been  inherently 
nervous,  instead  of  merely  temperamental,  this  condi- 

103 


104  CASTE  THREE 

tion  might  have  brought  on  an  introspective  morbidity 
which  would  have  undermined  the  wholesomeness  he 
would  later  attain.  His  inheritance  of  a  strong  body 
from  pioneer  ancestors  who  had  tilled  the  soil,  with  a 
strict  clinging  to  all  those  harsh  virtues  which  make  in 
the  end  for  racial  vigor,  tided  him  over  this  phase. 
His  taking  no  part  in  the  life  of  Alston  was  no  mani- 
festation of  an  eremitic  tendency  in  his  makeup.  He 
was,  at  twenty,  tinged  with  the  strong  egotism  which 
makes  a  man  dominate  his  social  group  or  despise  it. 
However,  it  was  not  an  assertive  egotism;  it  was 
merely  the  egoism,  the  introspective  round  of  the 
adolescent,  enhanced  by  loneliness  only  half -acknowl- 
edged, until  it  fills  him  with  a  conviction  of  the 
superiority  of  his  thought  over  that  of  others. 

Mary  Young's  notice  of  Hewitt  flattered  him.  He 
was  filled  with  the  same  overwhelming  joy  that  greeted 
Mrs.  Stewart's  comment  upon  him.  In  Chicago  the 
incident  would  have  been  less  important.  Surrounded 
by  others  whose  brain  processes  were  similar  to  or 
acuter  than  his  own,  the  slight  attention  that  Mary 
Young's  asking  for  an  introduction  to  him  and  re- 
ferring  to  his  brains  hinted  at  might  have  assumed 
its  proper  perspective.  There  he  was  not  a  portrait 
hung  alone,  but  a  part  of  a  large  group-picture. 

In  Alston,  however,  things  were  different.  From 
contact  with  Joe,  from  fleeting  but  pleasant  glimpses 
of  Blake  and  from  less  savory  insight  into  the  life 
of  Ernestine,  Hewitt  had  come  to  think  of  these  as 
representative  of  Alston.  People  seemed  to  be  living 


CASTE  THREE  105 

very  much  on  the  surface.  They  avoided  the  depths. 
All  mental  life  was  concerned  with  the  social  relation, 
social  being  narrowed  to  mean  "  society." 

Joe  Bales  and  Ernestine  and  Blake  never  thought. 
They  had  no  interest  in  their  city,  their  country,  the 
world,  or  humanity,  except  as  a  hunting-ground  where, 
clad  in  "  good  "  clothes  which  were  up-to-the-minute 
as  to  fashion,  they  sought  pleasure. 

This  game  did  not,  in  Joe's  case,  seem  particularly 
elusive.  He  found  it  in  Becker's  cigar-store,  where 
he  played  pool  and  smoked.  He  found  it  in  the  corner 
drug-store,  talking  to  the  girl  by  the  cigar-counter  or 
with  other  boys  in  similar  pursuit  of  this  tame  animal 
at  the  tables  back  of  the  soda-fountain,  where  they  sat 
while  consuming  lemonades,  frappes,  and  various  other 
concoctions.  He  found  it  in  plenty  at  dances.  It 
almost  reversed  normal  processes  and  pursued  him, 
when  he  was  just  developing  a  "  case."  Afterward, 
when  the  affair  had  continued  long  enough  to  pall,  he 
had  to  return  to  Helen  Baxter  for  awhile  and  give  over 
hunting  for  the  time  being. 

Joe  could  not  have  explained  to  anyone  just  what  it 
was  in  people  that  made  them  candidates  for  the  posi- 
tion of  fellow-pursuer  of  pleasure,  but  he  always  knew 
after  a  glance  and  a  word  whether  a  boy  was  eligible 
or  not.  Hewitt  was  not,  Joe  felt,  and  Hewitt  recog- 
nized the  justice  of  this  decision,  because  he  had  made 
similar  decisions  with  regard  to  his  own  coterie  in 
Chicago,  the  requirements  being  different  but  the  prin- 
ciple remaining  the  same. 


io6  CASTE  THREE 

There  was  a  time, —  just  before  Mary  Young's  ar- 
rival in  Alston, —  when  Hewitt  had  spent  several 
March  evenings  spoiling  his  study  with  wishes  that  he 
were  more  like  Joe.  The  "  Joes  "  of  Alston  had  such 
a  good  berth,  such  an  accepted  one,  which  became  al- 
most attractive  when  you  looked  upon  it  day  after 
day.  At  a  time  like  this  his  thoughts  always  turned 
to  Miss  Rowe.  He  had  not  seen  her  for  some  time, 
and  he  and  Joe  had  not  spoken  of  her,  although  on 
several  occasions  Hewitt  had  intended  to  bring  up  the 
subject. 

At  the  same  time  that  this  thought  of  Miss  Rowe 
appeared,  however,  some  talks  he  had  with  Paul  pushed 
the  other  back.  Paul  had  lived  and  learned ;  he  knew 
that,  whereas  he  had  not  been  hurt  by  his  experiences, 
other  men  were.  Hewitt's  hints  of  ardent  temper- 
ament had  made  him  afraid  for  the  boy,  too. 

"  There  's  a  strong  instinct  in  us,  Hewitt,"  he  had 
said  on  one  occasion,  "  an  instinct  which  the  ministers 
and  churches  say  is  animal,  and  hence  bad.  I  don't 
believe  that,  and  neither  will  you.  That  instinct  has 
a  purpose,  of  course.  It  gives  us  most  of  the  purest 
joy  we  have,  and  it  insures  the  race  against  extinction. 
It 's  not  primarily  bad,  but  an  abuse  of  it  brings  more 
misery  into  the  world  than  any  other  thing  I  know. 
There  's  a  healthful  outlet  for  desire.  Overstimula- 
tion  ruins  a  man's  nervous  system  and  leads  to  other 
evils  you  know  about.  Absolute  denial,  which  is  very 
uncommon,  often  does,  too.  The  only  solution  is  mar- 
riage. You  prepare  yourself.  Get  an  education,  and 


CASTE  THREE  107 

then  marry  some  nice  girl  who  enjoys  the  same  kind 
of  thing  that  you  do." 

All  this  was  said  just  before  Paul's  own  engage- 
ment. He  had  been  very  serious. 

Paul  could  not  have  told  Hewitt  any  fresh  facts 
about  this  basic  instinct.  The  latter  already  knew 
them  from  science,  on  the  one  hand,  and  from  his  ex- 
perience on  the  farm  on  the  other.  His  thoughts  were 
quite  clean  in  this  direction.  His  normal  curiosity  had 
been  uncorrupted  by  vulgar  stories  and  ugly  allusions, 
because  his  father  had  forcibly  injected  the  informa- 
tion into  the  heads  of  farm-hands  that  they  must  "  talk 
clean  or  get  off  the  place."  His  strict  Methodism 
made  him  feel  strongly  on  this  subject. 

Charles  Stevenson  always  arose  at  the  same  hour 
on  Sundays  as  on  week-days.  That  hour  was  five 
o'clock  in  the  summer  and  six  in  the  winter.  He  did 
not  require  his  family  to  live  up  to  his  standard,  but 
he  never  could  sleep  late,  he  said. 

March  gave  way  to  a  warm  April  that  sent  the  buds 
bursting  into  flowers  and  leaves,  and  brought  the  grass 
in  deep  abundance.  Dandelions  sprang  up  on  Alston 
lawns,  fat  robins  chirruped  and  sang  to  burst  their 
plump  throats,  and  sparrows  grew  noisier  and  bolder. 

"  Earliest  spring  in  fifteen  years,"  Charles  Stevenson 
announced  one  Sunday  morning,  as  he  climbed  the 
steps  to  the  summer  kitchen  to  which  Grace  had  already 
transferred  the  cooking.  "  This  ought  to  be  a  great 
fruit  year,  unless  we  have  one  of  those  May  frosts. 
That  old  apple  tree  out  there  's  about  ready  to  bloom. 


io8  CASTE  THREE 

It  don't  seem  to  have  enough  sense  to  know  its  fruit 's 
not  worth  pickin'.  How  about  soft-boiled  eggs  for 
breakfast?" 

He  had  already  driven  out  to  the  garden  and  back, 
and  he  was  hungry. 

Grandfather  creaked  his  way  to  the  front  porch  after 
breakfast  and  grinned  a  toothless  smile  as  he  stretched 
his  stiff  limbs  and  pounded  his  cane  energetically  upon 
the  floor.  The  world  had  metamorphosed  over  night. 
The  tennis-courts  across  the  street  were  covered  with 
grass  and  weeds,  young  and  flourishing.  The  trees 
along  Jackson  Street  were  filmy  with  bursting  buds  and 
young  leaves.  The  sky's  clear  blue  was  broken  by 
flurries  of  fluffy  clouds  that  skidded  lithely  toward 
the  north,  blown  by  a  brisk  wind  that  was  laden  with 
a  delicate  fragrance  which  even  the  smoke  from  pass- 
ing trains  could  not  altogether  obliterate. 

Old  Mr.  Stevenson  sniffed,  and  his  wrinkled  face 
broke  into  a  ludicrous  but  convincing  smile. 

"  Fine  day,  Charlie,"  he  called  back  to  his  son,  who 
was  still  in  the  dining-room  eating  his  toast  and  soft- 
boiled  eggs.  "  This  is  sure  spring,  I  guess." 

He  sat  down  slowly  and  carefully  in  his  wicker 
chair,  placing  his  cane  against  the  wall  and  then 
rubbing  his  hands  together  with  a  semblance  of  brisk- 
ness. 

"  Makes  a  fellow  young  again,  Charlie.  What 's 
the  matter  with  that  boy  Hewie?  Why  ain't  he  up 
and  out  fishin'  this  fine  day  ?  "  The  old  man  chuckled 
over  memories. 


CASTE  THREE  109 

Hewitt  slept  until  nine,  as  was  his  custom, — a  cus- 
tom inaugurated  while  in  Chicago  with  Paul  and 
gloriously  to  his  liking.  He  got  up  to  the  accompani- 
ment of  a  yawn  and  a  tattoo  by  some  jays  on  the  slate 
roof  of  the  house.  He  sleepily  rumpled  his  hair. 
The  sun  was  pouring  in  through  the  east  window,  and 
he  pulled  down  the  shade  before  he  thrust  on  a  bath- 
robe and  made  his  way  downstairs  to  the  inconven- 
iently located  bathroom.  Here  he  turned  on  the  wa- 
ter and  splashed  contentedly  in  a  hot  bath. 

Presently  he  heard  Grace  calling  at  the  door, 
"  Hewie !  Hewie !  I  '11  put  the  eggs  all  ready  on  the 
table.  You  can  make  your  own  toast.  The  coffee  's 
on  the  stove.  You  clean  up  your  things  afterward. 
I  '11  not  stay  to  church." 

Grace  never  stayed  to  church,  but  weekly  she  an- 
nounced her  intention  not  to  do  so.  According  to  the 
dictates  of  her  Methodist  conscience  and  habit,  she 
went  to  Sunday  school  every  week,  but  her  Methodist 
conscience  could  not  compete  with  her  sense  of  duty 
to  her  family  where  "  a  good  hot  dinner  "  was  con- 
cerned. Her  information  as  to  her  ten-thirty  inten- 
tions was  extraneous,  but  she  gave  it  regularly,  to- 
gether with  the  place  of  Hewitt's  breakfast  supplies 
and  the  order  to  clean  up  afterward. 

Hewitt  thought  she  had  gone  upstairs  to  get  her  hat 
and  black  silk  coat,  the  latter  a  useful  garment  taken 
out  of  a  trunk  every  spring  and  replaced  there  in  the 
autumn  as  soon  as  the  cold  winds  of  October  called 
for  heavier  garb.  But  presently  her  voice  rose  again 


no  CASTE  THREE 

above  the  sound  of  the  draining  of  water  from  the  tin 
tub.  She  spoke  with  unnecessary  force,  Hewitt  felt, 
but  he  did  not  mention  this  feeling. 

"  Hewie,  why  don't  you  go  to  church  to-day?  It 's 
so  pretty  outside !  I  pressed  your  suit  last  night  after 
you  went  to  bed.  You  ought  to  get  a  new  one  for 
next  Sunday.  You  go  to  church  to-day.  It'll  do 
you  good.  Father  never  goes  any  more,  since  we  Ve 
been  in  Alston.  He  says  a  city  church  is  n't  the  same. 
It  looks  as  if  some  one  in  the  family  ought  to  go." 

"  All  right.     Perhaps,"  he  called. 

"  Now  you  go,  Hewie." 

That  Hewitt,  after  his  breakfast  was  finished,  did 
go  to  church  was  not  because  he  felt  any  need  of  a 
scouring  of  his  moral  machinery  in  order  to  make  him 
run  more  smoothly  along  the  social  track. 

During  the  winter  he  had  spent  the  long,  dull,  lazy 
Sundays  in  study.  In  that  way  he  had  filled  the  gap 
which  Paul's  absence  made  in  his  recreation.  In  Chi- 
cago they  had  gone  on  fine  days  to  one  of  the  beaches 
or  parks.  Once  in  a  great  while  they  had  gone  to 
the  church  sen-ice  held  in  one  of  the  university  halls, 
non-sectarian  meetings  at  which  well-known  doctors  of 
theology  and  philosophy  spoke  to  congregations  of 
students.  On  Sunday  afternoons  Paul  went  to  see  the 
girl  he  eventually  married,  and  Hewitt  read  or  went 
to  Woody 's,  where  Letsky,  Adam  Conrad,  Horace 
Bowman,  and  Mr.  Woody  gathered  to  talk. 

Although  he  had  ceased  to  feel  any  enthusiasm  for 
Sunday  since  coming  to  Alston,  Hewitt  had  found  no 


CASTE  THREE  111 

difficulty  in  contenting  himself  with  his  books  and  his 
study,  interrupted  by  strolls  to  the  drug-store  for 
cigars. 

But  spring,  the  brilliancy  of  the  morning,  and  the 
vigor  engendered  by  the  ostentatious  fecundity  of  the 
earth,  gave  birth  to  a  restlessness  in  his  blood  that 
would  not  quiet.  He  whistled  over  his  breakfast  and 
the  subsequent  cleaning-up  in  accord  with  Grace's  de- 
mands. Afterward  he  sat  upon  the  porch,  fumbling 
through  the  morning  paper  with  its  flamboyantly  col- 
ored supplements  and  unable  to  concentrate  on  its  sub- 
ject-matter. He  examined  the  budding  apple-tree, 
stuck  a  dandelion  in  his  coat  lapel,  moved  about  the 
yard,  went  into  the  house,  and  came  out  again. 

At  ten-thirty  he  brushed  his  hat  and  started  down 
the  walk. 

"  Not  going  to  church,  are  you,  Hewie?  "  his  grand- 
father called  after  him. 

"  I  thought  I  might." 

The  old  man  laughed,  a  wheezing,  uncertain  laugh 
that  grated  on  Hewitt.  He  was  familiar  with  his 
grandfather's  scorn  of  religion.  He  did  not  like  it. 
He  himself  was  not  a  Christian,  he  would  have  told 
you  courageously,  contemptuous  of  your  Alstonian 
surprise;  but  being  yourself  an  unbeliever  in  the  ac- 
cepted forms  and  having  a  member  of  your  family  a 
scoffer  were  two  different  things.  The  young  might 
be  fascinating  doubters;  the  old  should  be  respectable, 
especially  since  in  this  case  a  gray  background  of 
bowing  to  conventional  gods  was  desirable  in  order  to 


112  CASTE  THREE 

sustain  the  contrast  with  his  own  orange  differentness. 
Thus  he  did  not  stop  to  discuss  his  going  to  church 
with  his  relative.  He  thought  atheism  very  extreme, 
anyway;  he  himself  was'  only  an  agnostic.  So  far, 
science,  he  felt,  confirmed  his  views. 

A  peculiar,  subtle  quiet  enshrouded  the  city.  Peo- 
ple were  up  and  about  as  usual,  but  there  was  no  clatter 
of  wagons  and  trucks,  no  noise,  except  at  intervals  the 
sound  of  a  jolting  street-car  on  Eleventh,  or  the  heav- 
ier rumble  of  a  traction-car.  Even  these  sounds 
seemed  muffled.  Men  sat  on  their  verandas  sur- 
rounded by  sheets  of  the  morning  paper  which  they 
were  forgetting  to  read,  absorbed  in  the  signs  of  an 
ordinarily  belated  spring.  Sunday  schools  ejected  a 
host  of  children  into  the  streets.  Their  apparel  was 
the  finery  of  the  newly  arrived  season. 

Hewitt  paused  in  front  of  the  Methodist  Church. 
No,  he  would  go  to  the  Presbyterian.  Denominations 
made  no  difference  to  him.  The  Methodist  Church 
was  less  beautiful  as  a  structure  than  the  other,  and 
when  Hewitt  lent  his  presence  to  a  church,  he  preferred 
to  do  it  in  the  midst  of  esthetic  surroundings. 

Groups  of  church-goers,  well-dressed,  clean,  of  all 
classes,  moved  down  Jackson  Street.  There  were  so 
many  churches  in  Alston!  The  number  had  always 
surprised  Hewitt.  Everyone,  he  thought  as  he 
watched  the  crowds,  except  the  men  on  the  verandas 
who  were  reading  and  gazing,  went  to  church. 

In  front  of  the  Christian  Church  were  lined  auto- 
mobiles, carriages,  and  buggies  in  immense  array.  A 


CASTE  THREE  113 

group  of  young  girls  ran  out  of  the  side  door  as  he 
passed.  They  were  lithe,  gay,  and  pretty.  Their  eyes 
were  on  two  boys  across  the  street  in  front  of  the 
library  —  the  Carnegie  Library,  of  the  type  found  in 
nearly  every  town  of  any  size  in  the  Middle  West. 
They  stepped  on  and  off  the  curb  into  the  street,  self- 
conscious  in  their  best  suits  and  new  caps,  half-shy, 
and  yet  determined  not  to  show  it.  A  girl  whom 
Hewitt  knew  to  be  the  daughter  of  an  ex-Governor 
who  lent  dignity  to  Alston  was  walking  in  front  of  him. 
She  was  leading  a  child  by  the  hand. 

The  Presbyterian  Church,  a  new  structure,  was 
architecturally  beautiful.  It  was  of  light  brown  brick, 
with  white  stone  decorations.  The  crowning  beauty 
was,  however,  the  Tiffany  windows,  which  had  none 
of  the  crude  ugliness  associated  in  the  Middle  West 
with  the  term  stained-glass.  They  were  of  soft,  ex- 
quisitely blended  colors,  and  were  the  work  of  an 
artist. 

Hewitt  passed  into  the  church  with  dignity.  There 
was  a  subdued  murmur,  a  near  absence  of  sound,  in 
the  auditorium.  Hewitt  knew  this  to  be  the  "  society  " 
person's  church.  The  Keiths  and  a  few  other  fam- 
ilies having  money  —  enough  money,  that  is,  to  be 
counted  rich  in  Alston  —  belonged  here,  but  the  con- 
gregation was  principally  made  up  of  those  people  who 
dressed  more  than  ordinarily  well,  who  aped  the  ways 
of  the  rich,  if  they  themselves  lacked  wealth,  and  who 
were  at  least  on  the  fringes  of  "  society."  A  great 
many  pretty  girls,  their  enthusiasm  and  liveliness  well 


114  CASTE  THREE 

under  control,  were  already  seated.  The  ex-Gover- 
nor's daughter,  whom  Hewitt  had  always  liked  because 
of  her  sweet  friendliness,  sat  with  a  group  of  the 
best-dressed  people.  A  scattering  of  young  men,  some 
of  whom  he  knew  slightly  from  their  association  with 
Joe  and  Ernestine,  were  there,  or  they  wandered  in 
before  the  service  began. 

Through  the  earlier  part  of  the  service  Hewitt  was 
too  taken  up  with  thoughts  aroused  by  his  first  ap- 
pearance in  an  Alston  church  to  hear  much  of  what 
was  being  said.  The  music  of  a  surpliced  quartette 
pleased  him.  It  carried  him  away  into  the  heaven  of 
the  purely  emotional.  He  did  not  think  at  all  during 
the  music,  but  only  listened.  Music  always  had  the 
effect  of  stiffening  his  body,  while  his  soul  soared  to 
heights, —  soared  and  soared. 

Were  these  people  in  Alston,  Indiana,  as  religious 
as  their  attendance  at  church  indicated,  he  wondered, 
while  the  collection  was  being -taken.  Was  there  a 
strong  conviction  in  their  hearts  that  Christ  was  divine, 
that  God  was  Love,  that  there  was  a  power  for  good 
guiding  them, —  a  conviction  that  all  these  things  were 
true,  despite  accident,  disillusionment  and  sorrow,  and 
although  these  people  had  strongly  the  air  of  coming 
little  in  contact  with  any  experiences  except  the  super- 
ficially satisfying?  Did  they  believe  in  the  creed  they 
recited  with  such  glibness?  They  spent  a  great  deal 
of  money  every  year  on  churches.  They  helped  sup- 
port foreign  missions  for  the  propagation  of  Christian- 
ity. But  were  they  sincere  ? 


CASTE  THREE  115 

Hewitt  wondered  actively.  He  was  a  doubter, 
prone  to  believe  that  others  would  find  it  hard  to  believe 
what  he  had  trouble  in  accepting.  He  was  sure  that 
people  in  Alston  went  to  church  with  more  regularity, 
and  gave  more  freely  than  similar  people  in  Chicago. 
The  latter  seemed  to  him  to  be  not  very  strong  in 
religious  expression.  Not  that  the  average  person  of 
the  same  class  in  larger  cities  was  more  wicked, — 
wicked,  at  least,  according  to  Hewitt's  standards, — 
but  they  expressed  their  religious  instinct  less.  Was 
it  because  there  was  less  amusement  to  be  had  in  Alston 
on  Sunday  ?  Or  was  it, —  and  Hewitt  welcomed  this 
conclusion  with  a  smile  of  relieved  surety, —  because 
public  opinion,  fostered  by  the  few  sincerely  religious 
and  austerely  respectable,  demanded  church-going  and 
giving  of  men,  and  because  Alstonians,  known  and 
judged  by  these  standards,  followed  its  dictates  to 
preserve  their  reputations  as  respectable  citizens? 

These  smartly  dressed  people  before  him,  secure  in 
the  possession  of  means,  if  not  of  wealth,  well-fed,  con- 
tented, self-sufficient,  subscribed  to  a  doctrine  having 
its  origin  in  the  life  of  One  who  spoke  to  the  poor,  fed 
the  hungry,  healed  the  sick,  directed  His  counsel 
against  fine  raiment  and  content  and  self-satisfaction. 
How  could  these  things  be  harmonized  ? 

The  minister  was  a  frail  ascetic  with  gray  hair.  He 
pushed  it  back  from  his  pale  face  with  long  fingers 
when  he  spoke.  He  recited  a  sentimental  verse  about 
a  dead  child  in  closing.  He  enunciated  with  a  pre- 
cision which  was  irritating  to  Hewitt,  who  had  heard 


ii6  CASTE  THREE 

little  of  his  sermon,  being  too  involved  in  his  own  spec- 
ulations. 

" '  Woe  unto  you  when  men  shall  speak  well  of 
you,'  "  Hewitt  remembered  having  heard. 

By  eleven  forty-five,  when  the  sermon  was  finished 
and  the  music  began  again,  Hewitt  had  arrived  at  the 
conclusion  that  Christianity  was  a  failure.  He  was 
an  enthusiast.  He  was  an  idealist.  He  was  twenty. 
"  Question,  question !  "  Letsky  had  told  him.  Without 
that  advice  he  would  naturally  have  questioned,  ap- 
praised and  misappraised,  lauded  and  damned.  For 
Hewitt  was  young. 

On  the  streets  afterward  there  was  a  suppressed 
gaiety,  a  manifest  cheerfulness  which,  despite  the 
failure  of  Christianity,  had  its.  effect  upon  him.  He, 
too,  responded  to  the  feeling  that  all  was  well. 
Whether  or  not  people  were  consistent  in  their 
Christianity,  Sunday  was  a  pleasant  day,  provided  you 
had  gone  to  church,  and  kindness  and  democracy  was 
in  the  air.  Georgia  Keith,  the  ex-Governor's  daugh- 
ter, greeted  him  with  a  smile.  Several  business  men 
spoke  cordially  to  him.  He  had  a  sense  of  belonging 
to  Alston  for  the  first  time,  and  the  feeling  was  not 
unwelcome. 

Hewitt  walked  downtown  on  his  way  home  to  buy 
some  candy  he  decided  he  must  have.  A  surprising 
number  of  people  were  on  the  streets.  Many  of  them 
were  country  people,  boys  and  young  men  especially, 
who  broke  the  monotony  of  the  week  on  the  farm  by 
these  visits  to  town.  They  were  standing  on  the  side- 


CASTE  THREE  117 

walks,  leaning  against  the  buildings,  or  were  walking 
aimlessly  in  and  out  of  cigar-stores  and  the  cheaper 
restaurants. 

Hewitt  remembered  that  his  father  had  often  made 
stirring  tirades  against  the  exodus  of  the  country 
people  on  Sunday  to  the  city.  Country  churches  were 
disappearing  rapidly,  he  was  accustomed  to  say  with 
angry  vigor.  As  a  good  Methodist  and  a  devoted 
attendant  and  supporter  of  the  little  country  church 
close  to  the  Stevenson  farm  east  of  Alston,  he  had 
been  disturbed  by  this  modern  enemy  of  the  country 
church.  Traction-cars  were  an  evil,  when  looked  at 
in  this  light.  More  than  one  dilapidated,  desolate, 
country  church  was  scattered  through  Indiana,  de- 
serted during  the  last  few  years.  People  wanted  ex- 
citement, and  were  satisfied  with  nothing  else. 

Dinner  at  the  Stevensons  was  a  dull  affair.  Hewitt 
always  wanted  to  fidget  through  the  last  of  it.  The 
heavy  content  of  his  father,  Grace's  attitude  of  self- 
praise  for  having  prepared  such  an  excellent  meal, 
his  grandfather's  noisy  supping  of  soft  foods  —  all 
these  elements  tended  to  inforce  the  Sunday  dullness. 
Aglow  during  the  first  part  of  it  from  his  unexpectedly 
exhilarating  attendance  at  church,  he  lost  his  cheerful- 
ness toward  the  end,  when  his  father  broke  into  a  long 
discourse  on  intensive  farming,  including  a  veiled  chid- 
ing for  a  son  who  had  scorned  a  life  on  the  land. 
Hewitt's  uneasy  movements  during  this  lecture  brought 
a  reproachful  glance  from  Grace. 

The  heaviness  which  seized  him  after  dinner  made 


ii8  CASTE  THREE 

him  want  to  sleep,  but  he  resisted  this  impulse.  Time 
enough  later  to  sleep,  and  besides,  sleeping  in  the  day- 
time gave  him  a  headache.  He  pulled  a  chair  into  the 
side-yard  under  the  gnarled  apple-tree  with  its  sug- 
gested green  of  a  coming  leafage  and  tried  to  read 
a  magazine  he  had  brought  from  the  store.  He  turned 
the  pages  and  read  the  advertisements,  fascinated  for 
the  moment  into  forgetting  how  sleepy  he  was  by 
that  of  a  steamship  company  describing  tours  to  the 
Mediterranean.  He  then  read  the  advertisements  of 
schools,  soap,  insurance,  breakfast-foods,  automobile- 
fixtures,  guns,  bicycles,  bathroom-plumbing,  and  books. 

An  automobile  or  two,  carrying  gay  seekers  after 
an  afternoon's  recreation  on  the  open  road,  passed  the 
house.  Some  one  waved  to  him  from  one  of  them. 

Hewitt  was  nodding  sleepily  over  a  travel  article, 
when  Dorr  Coates,  a  twelve-year-old  living  west  of  the 
Stevensons,  tiptoed  up  behind  him  and  tickled  his  ear 
with  a  long  grass.  Hewitt  jumped  accommodatingly, 
and  ended  by  seizing  the  child  by  the  collar  and  thrust- 
ing the  grass  down  his  neck.  He  threatened  to  throw 
him  over  into  his  own  yard  by  the  heels, —  and  Dorr 
wriggled  fiercely. 

"  Come  on  over  and  shoot!  "  he  screamed,  as  he  was 
tumbled  into  the  soft  grass. 

"Shoot?     Shoot  what?" 

"  Targets.  We  've  got  one  up  on  the  shed.  You 
stand  out  in  the  side-yard  and  shoot  the  rifle  at  it. 
Dad  did  this  morning." 


CASTE  THREE  119 

Hewitt  stretched  his  arms  over  his  head. 

"  Too  sleepy,"  he  yawned. 

"Sleepy!"  Dorr  sneered,  hitting  his  neighbor's 
back.  "  Wake  up,  lazy !  Come  on  over !  " 

Hewitt  jumped  the  low  iron  fence,  rusty  and  un- 
stable, into  the  Coates's  yard.  Dorr  had  convinced 
the  fifteen-year-old  boy  across  the  street  that  no  sport 
was  equal  to  shooting  at  a  target,  and  so  the  group 
consisted  of  three. 

Dorr  allowed  Hewitt,  as  the  oldest  and  most  de- 
serving of  honor,  to  have  the  first  five  shots.  He  kept 
a  careful  record  of  the  points  made  on  a  huge  sheet  of 
paper  which  came  with  the  set  of  targets. 

"Poor!  Only  forty-five  points,"  he  called  when 
Hewitt  turned  over  the  rifle  to  the  next  shot.  That 
target  was  harder  to  hit  than  Hewitt  had  supposed. 

The  fifteen-year  boy  from  across  the  way  did  better. 
He  was  the  least  bit  inclined  to  be  scornful  of  Hewitt's 
mediocrity,  although  he  hid  this  scorn  under  a  fine 
pretence  of  manly  tolerance.  His  manner  said :  "  We 
cannot  all  perform  at  sports  equally  well  in  this  world, 
which  nevertheless  favors  the  skilful.  So  be  it;  but 
I  will  be  lenient  with  the  less  skilful."  Dorr  himself 
ran  up  eighty  points  out  of  a  possible  one  hundred  and 
twenty-five. 

When  Hewitt's  turn  came  again,  he  carefully  raised 
the  gun  to  his  shoulder  and  took  a  much  longer  time 
in  sighting.  He  hit  the  shed  half  an  inch  off  the  round 
target,  and  frowned. 


120  CASTE  THREE 

"  Five ! "  shouted  Dorr  after  his  second  shot. 
"  Ten !  "  he  called  at  the  third.  The  fourth  shot  hit 
wood  again,  and  the  fifth  brought  him  a  twenty. 

"Thirty-five!"  was  Dorr's  seemingly  gleeful  an- 
nouncement. 

The  other  boy  looked  sad  in  sympathy. 

Hewitt  was  piqued.  He  wiped  his  forehead,  as 
though  the  condition  of  that  part  of  his  anatomy  might 
be  responsible  for  his  poor  marksmanship.  His  look 
of  consternation  brought  a  roar  from  the  Coates's 
veranda,  where  Mr.  Coates  was  shaking  his  fat  sides 
over  the  match. 

"  Go  to  it,  Stevenson!  "  he  cried.  "  I  tried  myself 
this  morning.  It  might  be  easier,  I  guess.  Those 
youngsters  practice  every  day  with  their  rifles,  and 
then  pretend  to  be  superior  when  we  compete." 

"  I  have  n't  touched  a  gun  for  five  years,"  explained 
Hewitt.  But  he  was  still  piqued  and  regretted  his  in- 
ferred apology.  He  applauded  magnanimously  the 
trial  of  Coates,  Junior,  and  was  in  the  act  of  taking 
the  gun  from  the  hands  of  the  third  shot  when  he 
caught  sight  of  a  long  "  roadster  "  swerving  around 
the  corner  of  Jackson  Street  and  gliding  slowly  into 
Fourteenth.  Mary  Young  was  in  it,  as  Hewitt  noted 
at  once. 

Here  he  was  with  an  air-rifle  in  his  hands,  caught 
in  the  act  of  shooting  at  a  target  with  two  infants! 
Hewitt  grew  so  red,  in  spots  on  his  cheeks  and  close 
behind  his  ears,  that  Dorr  noted  and  commented  on  his 
condition.  It  was  not  in  Hewitt  to  handle  a  situation 


CASTE  THREE  121 

like  this  as  calmly  and  naturally  as  another  would  have 
done.  He  shook  the  rifle  in  shooting,  ruining  an 
already  bad  aim  and  hitting  the  roof  of  the  shed. 
Dorr's  glee  was  unrestrained. 

Hewitt  could  have  turned  a  more  dangerous  rifle  on 
himself  without  regret.  Mary  Young,  the  only  per- 
son in  Alston  whose  recognition  that  he  had  a 
"  b-r-a-i-n  "  counted,  had  seen  him  shooting  at  a  tar- 
get with  children  on  a  Sunday  afternoon!  Of  course 
he  could  not  know  that  Mary  Young  looked  casually 
at  him  with  the  intention  of  waving  her  hand,  and  on 
seeing  his  absorption  in  the  game,  didn't  wave,  but 
went  on  with  her  conversation  about  the  Trimbles  to 
the  man  at  her  side.  As  far  as  Hewitt  was  concerned, 
the  afternoon  was  spoiled.  He  was  desolated  because 
he  had  not  turned  to  speak  to  Mary.  Any  interest 
he  ever  had  had  in  hitting  the  target  evaporated  rap- 
idly, and  he  fired  his  remaining  four  shots  into  the 
air  in  a  very  unsportsmanlike  manner.  Dorr  and  his 
companion  acknowledged  this  verbally,  and  after 
standing  on  the  steps  to  talk  to  Mr.  Coates  about  the 
weather  —  a  topic  upon  which  he  now  had  no  convic- 
tions,—  Hewitt  leaped  the  iron  fence  and  resorted 
again  to  the  magazine  and  the  seat  under  the  apple- 
tree. 

He  was  more  bored  with  the  magazine,  however, 
than  he  had  been  when  interrupted  in  the  travel-article 
by  Dorr's  demand  for  sport.  The  glassy  blue  sky, 
with  its  blown  fragments  of  white  clouds,  the  emerald 
of  the  grass,  the  fluffiness  in  the  tops  of  the  gently 


122  CASTE  THREE 

swaying  trees, —  these  no  longer  held  the  indefinable 
joy  of  spring.  Hewitt  resented  the  day's  brilliancy. 
What  was  the  use  of  Sunday  and  spring  and  youth, 
when  one  had  only  this?  "This"  was,  presumably, 
the  apple-tree  and  a  chair  and  a  magazine  which  he 
did  n't  want  to  read.  He  wanted  something.  He 
wanted  something  he  had  never  before  in  his  life  ac- 
knowledged that  he  wanted, —  if  he  had  ever  desired 
it  poignantly.  He  had  been  busy  for  a  good  many 
years  with  ideas.  Now  suddenly,  on  this  spring  Sun- 
day, he  wanted  people.  He  wanted  the  easy,  gay 
camaraderie,  unquestioning  in  its  heartiness  of  good- 
fellowship  and  its  easy  acceptance  of  it,  which  was 
Joe  Bales'  and  Ernestine's  and  Mary  Young's,  though 
he  dimly  understood  that  Mary's  was  snarled  in  other 
relationships  which  he  understood  to  be  bound  up  in 
the  social  game. 

Hewitt's  restlessness  and  moody  dissatisfaction 
drove  him  downtown.  The  moving-picture  shows 
were  closed.  Public  opinion  had  demanded  it.  The 
corner  drug-store  was  thus  the  rendezvous  of  the  young 
on  Sunday  afternoons.  Hewitt  walked  over  to  the 
soda-fountain  and  ordered  a  drink.  The  boy  thrust 
it  at  him.  He  was  in  a  hurry,  for  Sunday  was  a  busy 
day.  The  action  hurt  Hewitt,  hurt  his  feelings,  which 
had  suddenly  become  very  delicate  and  were  in  a  con- 
dition to  invite  hurting.  He  had  half -hoped  for  a 
sight  of  Joe  Bales,  although  he  was  sure  it  had  been 
Joe  who  had  waved  at  him  from  a  car  earlier  in  the 
afternoon.  Some  of  Joe's  friends  surrounded  the 


CASTE  THREE  123 

cigar-counter  and  leaned  against  the  candy-cases,  or 
were  seated  at  tables  clinking  ice  in  their  glasses. 
These  habitues  nodded  at  Hewitt,  and  then  went  on 
talking  or  eating  or  idling  with  cigarettes.  He  left 
without  anyone  having  spoken  to  him.  As  far  as  the 
stir  of  his  presence  in  Alston  created,  he  might  as 
well  have  been  in  Alaska  or  Alabama  or  any  other 
place  beginning  with  an  A.  To  the  seasoned  Alston- 
ian,  Hewitt  Stevenson,  once  of  Chicago  and  now  of 
their  midst,  did  not  exist.  And  to-day  his  not  existing 
for  them  made  a  difference  to  Hewitt. 

The  rest  of  that  day  he  spent  in  writing  letters  to 
Mr.  Woody  and  to  Paul,  and  in  reading  Oscar  Wilde. 
Not  that  Oscar  Wilde  was  widely  read  in  Indiana  in 
1913,  or  at  least  in  Alston,  but  Letsky  had  read  Wilde 
because  other  people  did  not  read  him,  and  Hewitt  had 
begun  by  reading  him  because  Letsky  did,  and  had 
ended  by  reading  him  because  he  filled  a  need.  To- 
day the  plays,  with  their  brilliant  repartee,  their  sophis- 
tication, and  their  cynicism,  made  him  contented  again. 
They  raised  him  to  a  plane  where  Mary  Young's  hav- 
ing seen  him  shooting  at  a  target  with  children  and  his 
non-existence  for  Joe  Bales's  kind  of  man  became  un- 
important matters  with  which  he  had  no  concern. 
Among  people  like  those  in  Wilde's  plays  he  would 
have  shone,  he  felt  sure.  He  would  have  scintillated, 
been  worldly  cynical,  yet  good  at  heart,  been  self- 
sacrificing  even,  like  Mrs.  Erlynne  in  "Lady  Winder- 
mere's  Fan."  He  identified  himself  indiscriminately 
with  men  and  women.  He  ate  and  thrived  upon 


124  CASTE  THREE 

Wilde's  brand  of  romance,  and  in  the  presence  of  the 
delightful  sophistication  of  this  individualist  he  felt 
that  it  was  not  romance  at  all,  but  reality.  How  fine 
that  bit  which  ran  thus : 

"Lady  W.  'Why  do  you  talk  so  trivially  about 
life,  then?' 

"  Lord  D.  '  Because  I  think  life  is  far  too  im- 
portant a  thing  to  talk  seriously  about.' ' 

Hewitt  chuckled,  enthralled  over  Lady  Agatha  and 
her  "  Yes,  Ma-ma," —  Agatha  who  was  so  fond  of 
"  photographs  of  Switzerland,"  "  such  a  pure  taste." 

By  supper-time,  when  Grace  placed  the  "  cold  bits  " 
upon  the  table,  Hewitt  was  once  more  happy  in  that 
fair  country  haunted  by  the  creations  of  a  master- 
mind. He  even  became  talkative. 

Charles  Stevenson  discussed  the  farm-garden.  It 
was  the  core  of  his  life.  The  weather  filled  him  with 
excitement.  He  ate  cold  chicken  vociferously,  and 
talked  fertilizer  and  seed  and  hot-beds  to  his  heart's 
content. 

In  the  fastnesses  of  his  room  afterward,  while  the 
cooling  breeze,  fresh  and  more  than  ever  laden  with 
the  perfume  of  bursting  growth,  fanned  the  curtains 
and  by  eight  o'clock  had  to  be  shut  out  by  closed 
windows,  Hewitt  read  and  thought.  Much  of  his 
thought  on  this  evening  was  concerned  with  a  distant 
day  when  Alston  would  feel  proud  of  having  harbored, 
though  only  for  a  year,  a  boy  who  had  put  the  town 
on  the  map,  so  to  speak.  He  was  not  Alston's  kind, 
and  he  felt  glad  that  he  was  not.  In  the  stimulation 


CASTE  THREE  125 

of  a  new  grip  on  himself,  fostered  by  Oscar  Wilde's 
outlook,  he  knew  his  kind  to  be  much  superior  to  the 
variety  to  be  found  in  Becker's  cigar-store  and  the 
drug-store.  Young  know-nothings,  these,  to  whom 
the  pleasure  of  the  moment  was  everything!  He,  too, 
if  he  wished,  might  grip  the  fleeting  joy;  but  he  chose 
to  prepare  himself.  Some  day  — !  How  he  was  to 
distinguish  himself  was,  of  course,  a  question  that  need 
not  be  immediately  answered.  After  an  afternoon  and 
evening  of  Wilde,  the  drama  might  suit  him.  He 
would  do  bright,  witty,  clever  things,  until  the  world 
noticed.  And  then  — ! 

Ten  o'clock  found  Mr.  Wilde's  products  lying  dis- 
carded on  the  floor,  while  Hewitt  gazed  ecstatically 
at  the  ugly,  cracked,  stained  wall-paper  above  his  bed 
and  saw  a  glorious  life  in  the  sunshine  of  Paris,  New 
York,  or  Rome  —  or  the  tropics!  Alston  might  pass 
him  unnoticed  now;  in  a  few  years  he  would  come 
back  — !  No,  he  would  never  come  back,  unless  it 
should  be  to  hold  up  its  inhabitants  to  the  derision  of 
a  cultivated  world  who  would  read  his  account  of 
"  A  Journey  to  a  Small  Town  Where  I  Spent  a  Year 
of  my  Youth." 

Hewitt  went  to  sleep  very  happy,  the  conscious 
center  of  a  universe  that  Joe  Bales  did  not  know 
existed,  although  Joe,  at  that  moment  in  the  swing  on 
the  Gainor  veranda,  was  the  center  of  his  own  satis- 
factory little  universe,  which  glowed  in  the  sun  of  his 
sixty-seventh  love  affair. 


CHAPTER  VII 

MR.  SMITH  thought  his  assistant  a  very  in- 
tellectual young  person.  His  opinion  may 
have  been  biased  by  the  fact  that  there  were  so  few 
intellectual  men  in  Alston  that  one  who  had  rather 
radical  notions  stood  out  in  relief  against  a  background 
of  youths  who  read  nothing  at  all  and  thought  nothing 
at  all,  except  about  girls  and  other  amusement.  Mr. 
Smith  praised  Hewitt  to  his  family  with  no  visible 
effect  upon  his  daughter,  Ernestine.  But  this  praise 
had  a  marked  effect  upon  Mary  Young,  who  break- 
fasted, lunched,  and  dined  at  the  Smiths  when  not 
otherwise  occupied. 

Mary  was  immensely  fond  of  the  young  men  in 
Alston.  She  found  them  most  amusing,  and  they 
looked  upon  her  as  a  superior  but  highly  entertaining 
person  whom  fortune  had  tossed  into  their  midst 
and  who  ought  to  be  feted  accordingly.  She  was  as 
popular  as  Ernestine, — more  popular,  indeed,  since 
everyone  liked  Mary,  even  Hewitt.  Hewitt,  in  addi- 
tion to  having  Mr.  Smith's  recommendation  as  to 
intellectual  qualities,  had  his  gray  eyes  and  a  boyish 
seriousness.  Mary  liked  novelty,  in  fact,  she  craved 
it.  Every  newcomer  to  Alston,  within  the  range  of 
"  society,"  was  cultivated  for  a  time  by  Mary  —  if 
they  proved  interesting  enough. 

126 


CASTE  THREE  127 

Mary  entered  Smith's  store  one  day  during  the  week 
following  Hewitt's  initiation  into  the  church  at- 
mosphere and  Sunday  loneliness  of  Alston.  She  was 
with  Mrs.  George  Patton,  the  daughter-in-law  and 
wife,  respectively,  of  the  two  owners  of  the  Alston 
Times.  The  Pattons  had  not  only  money,  but  in- 
fluence. Mrs.  Patton  belonged  to  the  best  clubs  and 
was  president  of  the  Women's  Council,  an  organiza- 
tion made  up  of  representatives  from  all  the  clubs  in 
the  city.  She  had  a  penchant  for  managing  things. 
Generally  this  is  not  a  popular  trait  among  other 
women,  but  Mrs.  Patton  remained  popular  because  of 
a  cordiality  which  was  stereotyped  but  convincing  to 
Alston. 

Mary  was  in  gray.  Hewitt's  eyes,  not  often  ob- 
servant where  women  were  concerned,  took  in  her  ap- 
pearance at  a  glance,  and  he  worshipped. 

Mrs.    Patton    wanted    a   novel.     She   thought   the 
author's  name  was  Watts,  but  upon  further  consider- 
ation, aided  by  a  gloved  finger  placed  upon  her  tight- 
ened lips,  she  thought  that  was  n't  the  name. 
"  Let 's  see,"  she  pondered. 

"  Mrs.  E.  D.  E.  N.  Southworth ! "  whispered  Mary 
Young  to  Hewitt.  She  had  smiled  and  summoned 
him  with  her  finger  when  Mrs.  Chancellor  had  started 
forward  to  wait  on  them. 

Hewitt  thought  this  an  excellent  joke  and  laughed, 
while  Mrs.  Patton  pretended  a  great  disgust  for  Mary 
and  her  suggestion.  She  expected  to  be  made  fun  of 
when  Mary  was  around.  Everyone  expected  it. 


128  CASTE  THREE 

People  invited  Mary  to  ridicule  them.  It  was  flatter- 
ing. 

"It  was  Wells!"  Mrs.  Patton  remembered,  with  a 
start  of  pleasure.  "  '  Tongue  —  Bung '  ?  Could  that 
have  been  it  ?  " 

"  '  Barriers  Burned  Away/  by  E.  P.  Roe,"  Mary 
suggested. 

"Mary  J.  Holmes?"  Hewitt  contributed,  with  a 
splendid' show  of  wit. 

Everyone  was  jolly  over  the  purchase  of  "  Tono- 
Bungay  "  and  a  new  travel-book  that  old  Mr.  Patton 
wanted  to  review  for  the  Tourist  Club.  Hewitt,  him- 
self, was  as  gay  and  airy  about  the  whole  sale  as  any- 
one. Being  democratic  in  the  extreme,  he  felt  very 
important  in  being  jolly  with  Mrs.  Patton  and  Mary 
Young,  social  leaders  as  they  were.  His  shirt  invol- 
untarily expanded  and  gave  him  an  overchested  ap- 
pearance, as  though  he  had  been  taking  breathing 
exercises  with  a  new  kind  of  patent  exerciser 
guaranteed  to  make  a  muscular  giant  of  the  poor- 
est specimen.  Little  thrills  of  joie  de  vivre  chased 
each  other  up  and  down  his  backbone  in  alarming 
succession,  for  his  backbone  in  its  hibernization  in 
Alston  had  become  unaccustomed  to  such  activity.  It 
was  a  kind  of  hermit  backbone,  but  it  liked  these 
pseudo-chills  of  happiness. 

Mrs.  Patton  had  been  introduced  in  the  beginning, 
so  that  a  business  transaction  of  buying  two  books 
assumed  the  proportions  of  a  social  gathering  under 


CASTE  THREE  129 

the  espionage  of  Mary,  who  always  made  a  social 
gathering  out  of  everything,  at  least  so  long  as  her 
star  was  in  the  ascendancy.  It  was  near  enough  being 
fixedly  in  that  position  in  Alston  to  enable  one  to 
say  that  she  always  was  jolly  about  everything.  Her 
jollity  was  a  refined  kind  of  jollity,  needless  to  say, 
but  it  was  contagious  and  invigorating.  Everyone 
was  a  little  jolly  himself  in  consequence. 

"  I  'd  ask  Hewitt's  opinion  of  Wells,"  Mary  began 
when  the  purchases  had  been  made,  ignoring  his  right 
to  be  addressed  as  Mr.  Stevenson  —  though  Hewitt 
would  never  have  required  that  formality  of  Mary  — 
"  if  he  was  n't  certain  to  break  into  a  violent  tirade, 
and  be  lengthy.  He  's  awfully  clever,  Mildred.  But 
he  knows  it,  and  he  glories  in  entangling  innocent 
women  in  long  arguments  that  no  one  but  he  knows 
the  answer  to.  He  does  n't  believe  in  woman's 
suffrage,  either.  Imagine !  " 

"  Oh,  I  do !  "  Hewitt  hastened  to  contradict  her. 
"  You  deserve  the  vote.  You  managed  things  so  well 
in  agricultural  prehistoric  times,  when  you  managed 
everything  except  the  fighting,  that  I  'm  all  for  giving 
you  a  chance  again." 

"  Did  you  know  we  managed  things  in  prehistoric 
times,  Mildred?"  Mary  sighed.  "Perhaps  we  had 
better  have  the  man  lecture  on  the  history  of  our 
sex  at  our  meetings.  Soon  there  won't  be  any  fun 
in  being  a  suffragette.  We  won't  have  any  opposi- 
tion." 


i3o  CASTE  THREE 

"  Even  inheritance  once  came  through  the  mother," 
Hewitt  volunteered  further,  feeling  proud  to  teach 
Mary  and  Mrs.  Patton. 

"Bravo!  Isn't  he  sweet?"  Mary  flung  to  him 
through  Mrs.  Patton,  while  she  gave  his  arm  a  pat. 

"  Sometimes  I  doubt  whether  all  women  should 
vote,"  Mrs.  Patton  said  slowly.  She  looked  at 
Hewitt  so  steadily  that  he  became  disconcerted  and 
dropped  his  eyes.  "  Some  of  us  are  so  —  so  catty, 
shall  I  say?  I  often  discover  the  tendency  in  myself." 
She  was  sorry  to  make  this  confession  but  was  deter- 
mined to  be  honest  before  a  man  who  was  willing  to 
grant  all  arguments  in  favor  of  her  right  to  vote. 

"  You  are  a  dear.  I  refuse  to  listen  while  you 
malign  yourself.  No  matter  what  other  women  are, 
George  would  n't  want  me  to  let  you  call  yourself 
cattish,"  and  Mary  placed  her  hand  gently  over  her 
self -accuser's  mouth. 

"  George  says  women  are  more  likely  to  take  the 
personal  attitude  than  men,"  the  other  continued  when 
she  was  allowed  to  speak. 

"  Tell  George  for  me,  darling,  that  he  is  wrong. 
I  have  known  so  many  men !  " 

"  You  talk  as  if  you  were  forty,  Mary." 

"  I  'm  eighty,  if  experience  with  men  ages  a  per- 
son." 

"  Conceited  girl." 

"  No ;  a  simple  statement  of  facts." 

"  Women  would  naturally  be  personal,  because  their 
place  has  always  been  in  the  home,  where  personal  re- 


CASTE  THREE  131 

lation  is  fostered.  Business  women,  I  should  say,  are 
not  inclined  to  be  personal,"  Hewitt  suggested,  with 
a  fear  that  if  he  did  not  say  something,  he  would  be 
altogether  left  out  of  the  conversation. 

Mrs.  Patton  shook  her  head. 

"  I  think  we  are  more  self-sacrificing  than  men,  but 
I  still  think  we  are  catty, —  the  business  women,  too." 

"  Am  I  catty  ?  "  mourned  Mary  into  a  hastily  pro- 
duced handkerchief. 

"  I  don't  know,  Mary.  Perhaps  you  are  not,  but 
the  rest  of  us  are." 

"  I  refuse  to  desert  my  sex.  If  the  rest  of  you  are, 
so  am  I.  Don't  you  think  I  am  noble,  Hewitt?" 

Hewitt  thought  other  things  about  her,  if  not  that, 
but  he  did  not  state  them. 

"  Get  your  package,  dear,"  Mary  suggested  to  Mrs. 
Patton  after  more  of  this  jesting,  and  the  young  man's 
shirt-front  gradually  assumed  its  normal  position. 

It  was  almost  with  desolation  of  spirit  that  Hewitt 
watched  them  depart.  He  wanted  Mary  to  stay  and 
talk.  He  could  have  amused  her,  he  felt  sure,  and 
there  was  no  doubt  about  her  ability  to  amuse  him. 
He  needed  amusement  to  make  him  forget  the  sad 
yesterday,  which  became  sadder  in  retrospect,  Oscar 
Wilde  having  lost  his  power  to  create  superiority  in 
the  white  light  of  Monday's  labor.  He  was  running 
over  with  information  about  books  and  the  men  who 
made  them,  and  she  would  have  understood  and 
appreciated  and  responded,  he  felt  sure. 

But  the  sense  of  desolation  soon  had  a  relapse  and 


132  CASTE  THREE 

weakened,  while  the  memory  of  how  pretty  and  quick 
and  fascinating  she  had  been,  revivified.  Later  in  the 
afternoon  he  felt  stimulated  and  thought  to  lift  him- 
self out  of  an  inferred  mediocrity  as  a  silent  Alstonian 
by  opening  a  conversation  with  a  young  manufacturer 
of  mechanical  toys.  The  latter  came  in  nightly  to  buy 
a  New  York  paper.  He  was  clean  cut,  sturdy,  of 
medium  height,  broad  in  proportion,  and  had  a  fine 
head.  Hewitt  had  been  impressed  with  him  before. 

"  Fine  spring  weather,"  Hewitt  began  unexpectedly. 

"  Yes,"  answered  the  manufacturer.  "  The  country 
looks  great.  My  wife  and  I  drove  out  last  night." 

"Of  course  it  would  take  more  than  spring  to 
freshen  up  Alston,"  Hewitt  laughed,  with  an  air  of 
conscious  superiority  to  country  villages.  "  What  I 
never  understand  about  small  places  is  why  they  don't 
build  better  buildings  in  the  business  section.  People 
here,  for  instance,  take  excessive  pride  in  their  resi- 
dences, but  look  at  that  group  of  shacks  across  the 
street  there.  A  Chinese  laundry,  a  restaurant,  a  shoe- 
shining  booth  —  all  in  a  one-story  building  that  you  'd 
think  would  have  been  torn  down  long  ago.  Why, 
in  Chicago — " 

"  Oh,  of  course.  The  bigger  cities  have  to  rebuild. 
The  more  they  are  like  New  York,  the  better, —  or 
so  they  think.  And  after  all,  that 's  what  you  're  after 
for  Alston,  isn't  it?  You  want  it  to  be  more  like 
Chicago,  which  is  exactly  like  New  York.  Now  my 
idea  for  the  business  section  of  a  small  town  would 
be  a  pretty  square  —  a  park,  a  fountain,  trees,  and  so 


CASTE  THREE  133 

on, —  more  like  abroad  —  with  plain,  dignified  one, 
two,  or  three-story  buildings  grouped  around  the  green 
spots.  No  ugly  structures  would  be  permitted." 

Hewitt  thought  about  the  suggestion  for  a  mo- 
ment. 

"  I  believe  you  're  right.  That 's  an  idea.  There 
is  n't  really  an  artistic  building  in  Alston.  Well,  you 
might  call  the  post-office  and  the  Carnegie  library 
artistic.  At  least  they  're  simple  and  dignified." 

"  What  a  town  like  Alston  needs  is  some  pretty 
trees  and  lawns  downtown,"  went  on  the  other. 
"  Somebody  long  ago,  before  land  in  cities  became  so 
valuable,  decided  people  ought  to  crowd  together.  I 
suppose  they  were  afraid  somebody  else  would  run  off 
with  the  town  hall  or  the  church  —  some  of  our  re- 
spectable ancestors  who  distrusted  everybody  whose 
father  was  n't  a  preacher.  Business  has  to  be  concen- 
trated, but  my  idea  is  to  concentrate  it  in  a  beautiful 
spot,  instead  of  in  one  like  this."  He  pointed  to 
Meridian  Street,  with  its  rather  narrow  roadway  made 
still  narrower  by  tracks  down  the  middle  of  it,  its 
crowded  sidewalks,  and  its  asphalted,  treeless  expanse 
unbroken  by  a  single  beautiful  spot. 

"Where  do  you  come  from?"  Hewitt  asked  curi- 
ously. People  who  live  in  Alston  and  yet  harbored 
ideas  astounded  him. 

"  New  York  City." 

"  I  might  have  known  that  you  were  n't  a  Hoosier. 
Everyone  in  Indiana  —  the  native-born,  I  mean, — 
thinks  his  town  is  the  best  on  the  face  of  the  earth. 


134  CASTE  THREE 

He  would  n't  trade  it  for  Florence  or  Paris  or  Rome, 
with  all  their  art-treasures  thrown  in.  You  can't 
teach  a  Hoosier  anything  about  his  town." 

Hewitt  was  improvising.  He  had  never  thought 
of  Hoosier  pride  in  just  this  light  before,  but  he 
quickly  warmed  to  his  subject.  He  had  a  little  bone 
to  pick  with  Alston  after  a  disappointing  Sunday  when 
nature  had  tried  to  teach  him  something  he  did  n't 
want  to  learn  about  man  and  a  social  law. 

"  The  way  the  cow  wandered  a  century  ago  is  the 
way  for  the  Hoosier  highway.  That 's  Hoosier 
philosophy  for  you!"  he  added  after  a  moment's 
thought. 

"  No,  that 's  not  Hoosier  nature  you  're  talking 
about;  it's  human  nature,"  the  young  man  laughed. 
"  You  don't  suppose  the  English  are  any  different  from 
that,  do  you?  Or  our  worthy  Puritan  ancestors? 
Or  the  natives  of  the  Buckeye  State?  We're  all 
alike.  You  swear  by  Chicago  —  I  suppose  you  lived 
there  once  —  and  I  secretly  swear  by  New  York. 
*  Good  little  old  New  York,'  I  say  to  myself  —  when 
I  'm  far  away  from  it.  We  all  like  the  things  we  've 
known  when  we  were  young  and  when  life  was  still 
full  of  illusions." 

"  I  did  n't  seem  to  care  for  the  farm,"  Hewitt 
grinned. 

"  Wait  until  you  are  fifty,"  returned  the  other. 
"  An  Indiana  farm  will  then  be  Paradise  with  a  capital 
to  you." 

Hewitt  doubted  this  statement. 


CASTE  THREE  135 

"Did  you  ever  see  a  beautiful  small  town?"  he 
asked  the  man. 

"  A  few, —  in  the  West.  You  see,  the  minute  a  man 
goes  West  for  good  to  live,  he  breaks  with  his  old 
traditions  to  a  certain  extent  and  starts  in  anew. 
He 's  no  longer  tied  down  by  the  idea  that  the  way 
his  father  did  things  is  the  best  way.  He  wants  things 
more  convenient,  even  more  beautiful,  though  the 
average  American  is  n't  on  the  trail  of  beauty.  Cali- 
fornia bungalows  and  apartments  are  a  revelation  to 
the  Middle  Westerner." 

"  I  believe  I  'd  like  the  West,"  Hewitt  thought 
aloud. 

The  young  manufacturer  examined  him  carefully. 

"No,  you  wouldn't,"  he  decided.  "You'd  like 
New  York.  Interested  mainly  in  books,  aren't  you? 
Well,  after  all,  the  East 's  the  place  for  those  who 
cherish  intellectual  ideals.  There's  the  same  difference 
between  the  East  and  the  West  in  that  respect  as  be- 
tween New  York  and  Europe.  They  have  more  art 
traditions  abroad.  The  thing's  in  the  atmosphere. 
The  West  is  the  place  for  the  man  who  wants  to  live. 
It  may  be  a  kind  of  superficial  living,  something  like 
Pacific  Coast  fruit  —  very  pretty  to  look  at,  but  lack- 
ing the  eastern  tang.  For  myself,  I  like  the  good  old 
Middle  West.  You  get  enough  of  the  intellectual  to 
keep  you  alive.  I  '11  take  Alston,  Indiana,  for  mine, 
People  have  time  to  live,  and  they  're  not  always  break- 
ing the  speed  limit.  It's  a  pretty  good  town!" 

Hewitt  was  sorry  he  felt  that  way  about  Alston. 


136  CASTE  THREE 

It  detracted  from  the  respect  that  up  to  this  moment 
he  had  felt  for  him. 

The  man  started  out  of  the  door,  but  paused  to  call 
back,  with  a  laugh : 

"Of  course,  between  you  and  me  and  the  gate- 
post, I  'd  like  to  build  most  of  Alston  over  again, — 
around  that  pretty  park  with  trees, —  lots  of  trees! 
It  mightn't  be  a  bad  plan  to  have  a  little  stream 
trickling  through  the  middle,  with  plenty  of  fish  in 
it.  Then  all  the  tired  business-men  could  satisfy 
their  desire  for  their  favorite  sport  right  at  their  own 
doors.  Good-night." 

Hewitt  was  still  smiling  over  the  young  manu- 
facturer's parting  words  when  Mr.  Smith  jogged  in, 
perspiring  from  the  exertion  of  his  walk  from  the 
bank  two  blocks  away.  He  removed  his  brown  derby 
to  wipe  his  forehead,  and  fell  back  in  simulated 
exhaustion  in  the  swivel-chair,  which  sagged  danger- 
ously under  his  weight. 

"These  Catholics!"  he  groaned.  "They  don't 
want  the  world  to  progress.  They  're  stones  in  the 
current  of  progress.  They  want  to  dam  things  up." 
He  puffed  forth  a  voluminous  sigh.  "  I  'spose  I  'm 
a  little  sweeping  —  just  a  little.  There  are  some  good 
Catholics.  You  're  not  a  Catholic,  are  you?  "  he  asked 
quickly,  with  a  suspicious  glance  at  the  boy. 

Hewitt  grinned. 

"  Methodist-trained  agnostic,"  he  replied. 

"All  right.  Now,  about  these  Catholics.  Gerald 
Meyer  's  always  one  of  the  first  men  here  to  give  to 


CASTE  THREE  137 

public  funds.  Perhaps  he  thinks  he  ought  to  even  up 
in  some  way  for  that  brewery  of  his.  But  these  pesky 
Burkes  who  run  the  clothing-store  over  on  the  Square ! 
I  've  been  working  half  the  afternoon  trying  to  get 
old  Mike  to  give  fifty  or  twenty-five  or  ten  dollars  to 
the  fund  for  Boosters'  Day,  and  do  you  think  he  'd 
come  through  with  a  cent?  Not  a  red  Indian!  I 
never  did  have  any  use  for  Catholics.  Dance  and 
carouse  around  after  they  've  gone  to  mass  and  had  the 
priest  forgive  all  their  sins!  They  make  me  pesky 
hot!" 

He  mopped  his  brow  again  and  swung  back  and 
forth  dangerously  in  his  chair. 

"Boosters'  Day?"  queried  Hewitt.  "What's 
that?" 

Mr.  Smith  emitted  a  groan. 

"  Lord !     Where  have  you  lived  all  your  life,  Son?  " 

"  We  did  n't  have  it  on  the  farm  or  in  Chicago." 

"  Well,  we  have  it  here.  You  '11  see.  They  're  a 
great  and  beneficent  institution.  I  helped  start  the 
first  one  here.  All  the  county  comes  to  town  to  see 
a  parade  and  athletic  contests  and  a  balloon  ascension 
and  to  hear  speeches.  And  we  give  them  —  and  in- 
cidentally the  apathetic  citizens  of  our  own  town  — 
proof  in  plenty  that  Alston  is  the  best  there  is,  and 
getting  better !  " 

This  speech  further  exhausted  him. 

"  Wait  and  see,  Boy.  I  'm  too  tired  after  working 
on  that  blamed  Catholic  to  tell  you  all  the  good  things 
about  Boosters'  Day.  Why,  Abe  Kahn  gave  fifty 


138  CASTE  THREE 

dollars,  while  Mike  Burke  would  n't  hand  out  a  red 
cent.  It's  the  limit!" 

But  presently  he  broke  out  again  with: 

"  He  '11  get  the  benefit  of  it  in  trade,  just  like  the 
rest  of  us.  Not  that  trade  is  all  we  're  thinking  about. 
We  have  Boosters'  Day  just  out  of  exuberance  of 
spirits,  as  it  were.  Proud  of  Alston,  and  want  to 
show  it,  you  understand." 

Hewitt's  day  was  not  complete;  it  had  been  a  good 
day,  what  with  his  chat  with  the  social  arbiters  of  the 
city  and  the  talk  with  the  young  manufacturer  who 
had  ideas.  That  night,  not  long  before  closing  time, 
he  was  arranging  one  of  the  show-windows  for  an 
advance  supply  of  tennis-  and  golf-goods,  when  he 
was  interrupted  by  Homer  Gray,  a  young  lawyer,  who 
came  into  the  store  with  M.  H.  Keith,  ex-Governor  of 
the  state  and  Alston's  most  prominent  citizen. 
Hewitt  jumped  down  from  the  platform  in  the 
window. 

"  Hello,  Stevenson,"  Gray  called  out  familiarly. 
His  position  as  a  rising  young  politician  and  candidate 
for  a  city  office  made  him  uniformly  cordial.  He 
knew,  and  was  familiar  with,  everybody.  Sometimes 
his  method  was  not  convincing,  but  he  did  not  realize 
that.  He  understood  that  Mr.  Keith  was  very  popular 
in  political  circles,  that  in  his  youth  he  had  been  noted 
for  an  exuberant  cordiality  which  had  won  him  a 
state-wide  renown.  Homer  Gray  considered  Mr. 
Keith  a  fine  person  to  pattern  himself  after.  Hewitt 
did  not  like  his  conceited  assumption,  however,  that 


CASTE  THREE  139 

the  young  man  could  have  the  wool  pulled  over  his 
eyes  by  an  amateur.  Hewitt  never  liked  egotists, — 
that  is,  other  egotists. 

"You  know  Mr.  Keith,  don't  you?  Every  one 
knows  the  Governor.  Hewitt  Stevenson  is  Mr. 
Smith's  right-hand  man,  Mr.  Keith;  Charlie  Steven- 
son's boy,  you  know,  of  Fourteenth  and  Jackson 
Streets." 

The  ex-Governor,  a  dignified,  imposing,  white- 
haired  man,  whose  habit  of  glaring  at  people  was  very 
disconcerting  until  they  discovered  that  the  glare  was 
followed  by  a  reassuring  smile  and  a  hearty  hand- 
shake, wanted  a  copy  of  President  Wilson's  "  History 
of  the  American  People." 

"  A  very  great  man,  Mr.  Wilson,"  he  said. 

"  Not  of  the  same  caliber  as  his  predecessor,  Mr. 
Roosevelt,"  Gray  put  in,  with  an  important  air  of  add- 
ing something  of  note  to  the  conversation. 

"  They  are  both  great  men,  in  the  popular  interpreta- 
tion of  that  term,"  Hewitt  began  slowly,  addressing 
himself  to  Mr.  Keith.  An  unnatural  stepping-out 
from  his  protective  shell,  in  order  to  show  his  true 
colors,  was  marking  his  actions  on  this  day.  He  could 
not  at  once  understand  his  hardihood  in  feeling  called 
upon  to  make  Homer  Gray's  remark  sound  colorless, 
but  he  was  determined  to  do  so.  He  spoke  carelessly 
and  forcefully,  as  though  he  had  long  been  thinking 
about  this  subject  and  was  only  now  willing  to  give  the 
benefit  of  his  thought  to  the  public.  He  pointed  out 
that  they  both  were  great  men  in  such  different  ways 


CASTE  THREE 

as  to  make  intelligent  comparison  impossible, —  like 
comparing  the  army  and  the  navy  of  a  country  as  to 
respective  greatness.  One  had  powers  in  a  certain  di- 
rection, the  other,  in  another.  He  said  what  most 
of  the  non-partisan  papers  had  been  saying  since  before 
Mr.  Wilson's  election,  and  which  they  would  continue 
to  say  until  some  one  thought  of  something  better, 
but  he  said  it  impressively.  At  least,  Mr.  Keith 
listened  very  intently,  although  Homer  Gray  tried 
vainly  several  times  to  interrupt  the  flow  of  Hewitt's 
speech-making. 

"  Very  good,"  Mr.  Keith  commented,  nodding  his 
approval  when  Hewitt  had  finished. 

"  But  Mr.  Roosevelt's  vigor  — "  Gray  began. 

"  The  distrust  of  American  finance  for  a  school- 
master President  is  a  tribute  to  his  honesty  of  pur- 
pose," Mr.  Keith  pronounced,  disregarding  Gray's 
false  start.  "  He  will  make  good ;  and  the  American 
people  —  the  mass  of  the  people  —  will  have  more 
faith  in  mentality  and  be  less  slow  to  disparage 
brains." 

Hewitt  drew  his  lower  lip  over  his  upper  and  ap- 
peared to  ponder.  What  was  really  happening  in  his 
mind  was  that  he  was  considering  that  ex-Governors 
were  not,  after  all,  such  wonderful  men.  Here  was 
one  conversing  with  him,  Hewitt  Stevenson,  a  mere  no- 
body, on  political  topics  of  the  day,  and  his  words 
were  no  more  weighty,  to  Hewitt's  mind,  than  his  own. 
They  were  both  saying  what  men  all  over  the  country 
were  saying,  although  Hewitt  himself  had  digested  his 


CASTE  THREE  141 

information  so  that  now  it  was  his  own.  He  was  not 
so  sure  about  the  ex-Governor's  assimilative  processes. 
The  miracle  of  exchanging  views  and  agreeing  with 
so  great  a  man  politically  as  an  election  had  proved  this 
man  to  be,  could  not  pass  without  creating  a  wonder- 
ful stir  in  his  nervous  system,  even  while  he  dis- 
paraged the  ex-Governor.  He  thought,  too,  that  in 
Chicago  he  would  never  have  had  the  opportunity  of 
talking  at  his  ease  with  Mr.  Keith.  You  never 
parleyed  with  the  great  in  Chicago  —  the  politically 
great,  that  is,  the  men  who  received  the  laudation  of 
the  crowd.  The  rich  watched  and  appropriated  them. 
But  here  he  was,  a  clerk  in  Smith's  book-store,  grow- 
ing chummy  with  a  former  Governor  of  Indiana. 

Hewitt  puckered  his  eyebrows  and  ignored  the 
younger  politician.  What  had  he  to  do  with  any  but 
the  "arrived"? 

"  Now  take  Roosevelt's  books  — "  Gray  began. 
But  Hewitt's  quick,  seemingly  unpremeditated  remark 
cut  him  short. 

"  Mr.  Wilson's  control  over  language  is  greater  than 
that  of  any  man  who  has  sat  in  the  Presidential  chair 
since  Lincoln,"  he  said,  "  and  all  of  his  speeches  taken 
together,  will  in  time  be  probably  admitted  to  surpass 
in  beauty  of  language  the  bulk  of  Lincoln's  utter- 
ances." 

Gray  turned  away  to  look  at  a  book  lying  near  him. 
Mr.  Keith  nodded. 

"  But  you  must  be  careful  not  to  seem  too  critical 
of  the  great  Lincoln,"  he  warned.  "  I  doubt  whether 


H2  CASTE  THREE 

we  of  the  new  era  desire  to  be  critical  of  the  finest 
man  the  country  has  produced.  He  had  the  power 
of  fine  feeling.  That  is  the  secret  of  the  people's 
adoration  of  him.  Mr.  Wilson  has,  as  you  say,  an 
admirable  control  over  speech.  He  is  a  fine  man." 
He  shook  his  head  emphatically  over  the  last  words. 
He  had  been  a  Republican  governor  of  a  state  that  was 
doubtful  in  its  party  affiliation. 

Gray's  growing  impatience  here  broke  into  action, 
and  he  moved  toward  the  door  as  cheerful  and  politic 
as  ever,  now  that  he  could  end  the  conversation  and 
regain  his  position  of  importance  as  the  political  child 
of  Alston's  leading  citizen. 

Hewitt's  prejudice  against  Gray  was  founded,  it  is 
to  be  feared,  either  on  such  evidence  as  Grace  needed 
to  reach  similar  conclusions,  or  on  the  conflict  between 
their  two  vocal  egos,  each  of  which  wanted  to  do 
nothing  so  much  as  scream  at  the  other  when  the  angels 
of  dead  eagles  appeared  to  show  a  preference.  And 
of  course,  in  any  ordinary  screaming  contest  Gray 
would  have  won,  because  he  was  a  native  of  Alston 
and  the  author  of  a  little  book  favorably  commented 
upon  by  the  president  of  a  university  —  a  little  book 
entitled  "  The  History  of  the  Communistic  Movement 
in  Indiana."  Hewitt  must  have  realized  Gray's  ad- 
vantages in  order  to  make  such  good  use  of  his  latent 
conversational  powers  to  an  audience  that  consisted  of 
a  single  man  who  had  heard  Gray's  ideas  on  Roosevelt 
many  times  before. 

The  two  men  left  Smith's  with  a  cheery  "  Good- 


CASTE  THREE  143 

night "  that  made  the  gray  eyes  that  Grace  thought 
should  have  been  brown  light  up  with  serene  satisfac- 
tion. It  had  been  a  good  day,  Hewitt's  attitude  said. 
Alston  was  n't  so  bad. 

But  when  the  local  and  state  celebrities  stepped  from 
the  door  at  seven-thirty  he  had  not  tasted  the  essence 
of  its  sweetness.  Kenneth  Reed,  the  "  David  "  of 
former  Chicago  days,  who  had  introduced  Hewitt  to 
the  fraternity  ideal  and  had  been  defended  by  that 
youth  from  Letsky's  unconcealed  scorn  at  save-the- 
world  meeting,  peered  doubtfully  in  at  the  door  a  few 
minutes  later.  Hewitt  was  standing  staring  off  into 
space,  waiting  for  eight  o'clock  to  roll  around.  He 
grasped  Hewitt's  hand  with  a  grip  that  hurt. 

"Hello,  Hugh!  Tickled  to  death.  What  you 
doin'?" 

"  Reed,  you  boob !  When  'd  you  get  in  ?  What 
under  heavens  are  you  doing  in  Alston?  When  did 
you  see  Paul  ?  " 

"  One  at  a  time.  Saw  Paul  last  week,  and  when 
I  told  him  I  was  selling  bonds  in  Indiana  this  month, 
he  told  me  to  look  you  up  in  Alston.  Just  got  in,  and 
had  some  dinner  at  the  only  hotel  I  saw  handy, —  a 
good  one,  strange  to  say.  What  are  you  doing  to- 
night?" 

"  Nothing,  after  eight.  I  close  up  then  and  go 
home." 

"  Not  home  this  night.  You  're  going  to  stay  all 
night  at  the  Grand  with  me,  and  talk  a  little.  See  ?  " 

Hewitt  glowed. 


144  CASTE  THREE 

"  By  the  way,  did  you  ever  hear  of  a  girl  named 
Mary  Young  in  Alston?  I  met  her  in  Chicago  at  a 
dance  last  year.  She  's  a  pippin.  I  want  to  see  her." 

Hewitt  glowed  some  more. 

"I  should  say  so!  Of  course  I  know  her.  She 
stays  with  Dr.  Trimble.  Come  on  back  and  call  her 
up." 

That  flickering  tingle  which  had  been  pursuing  his 
vertebrae  during  the  afternoon  and  evening  attacked 
them  again.  He  was  un-Hewittly  speedy  in  leading 
Kenneth  Reed  to  the  telephone,  and  was  trembling  in 
a  way  that  would  have  shamed  him,  had  he  known 
there  was  anything  the  least  unusual  in  his  actions. 
Reed  knew  Mary  Young,  Alston's  fairest  divinity  and 
a  very  Venus  or  Athena  among  femininity!  He 
looked  the  Trimble  number  up  for  him,  and  then  ob- 
tained the  connection  and  asked  for  Mary  Young. 
His  voice  followed  the  example  of  his  hands  and  shook 
slightly  in  pronouncing  the  words.  Wonderful  Mary 
Young!  He  handed  the  receiver  the  least  bit  unwill- 
ingly to  Reed  before  Mary  answered.  He  wanted  to 
talk  to  her  himself.  . 

Reed  laughed  uproariously  for  five  minutes,  while 
Mary  said  things  into  the  telephone  that  evidently  were 
laughter-producing.  Hewitt  smiled  inanely  in  sym- 
pathy, and  wanted  to  tear  the  instrument  from  Reed's 
ear  to  hear,  too.  What  was  she  saying? 

"  Lyceum  entertainment  ?  "  laughed  the  favored  one 
at  last.  "  I  'm  on,  but  look  here.  Hewitt  Stevenson 


CASTE  THREE  145 

—  you  know  him,  don't  you?  —  Hewitt  and  I  are  old 
pals  from  college  days  —  from  mine, —  rather.  He 's 
my  best  friend,  in  Alston,  Chicago,  or  any  old  place. 
He  goes  to  the  famous  lyceum,  too.  We  '11  come  for 
you  about  what  hour?  Eight?  O.  K." 

He  turned  and  slapped  Hewitt  on  the  shoulder. 

"  We  're  off  for  the  great  entertainment,  Hugh. 
Methodist  church.  Ever  been  inside  of  a  church,  my 
boy?  Yes?  Seven-thirty  now.  I  'spose  you  want 
to  put  on  a  clean  collar  and  get  a  fresh  handkerchief. 
Why  could  n't  I  watch  this  store,  while  you  go  home 
to  doll  up  a  little?  What  about  it?  " 

Anything  was  possible  to  this  Hewitt  with  a  new 
zest  for  life. 

"Of  course  you  can,"  he  said.  "  Call  me  up  at 
home  if  some  one  wants  anything  you  can't  find  the 
price  on." 

"All  right.     Scoot!" 

At  seven  fifty-five  Hewitt  was  back,  so  clean  as  to 
skin  that  he  shone.  He  had  even  managed  to  give  a 
hurried  shine  to  his  shoes  and  had  taken  time  to  be 
impressed  by  their  age.  For  a  fleeting  moment,  while 
he  observed  the  cut  of  Kenneth  Reed's  suit,  he  wished 
he  had  a  better  suit  of  his  own.  His  was  really  rather 
shabby.  He  wore  one  suit  all  the  time;  that  had 
seemed  enough  to  him.  He  was  not  a  Joe  Bales. 

During  the  walk  to  the  Trimbles  they  talked  a  great 
deal  about  Chicago  and  the  winter  just  past.  Reed 
explained  that  his  temporary  journey  into  the  world  of 


146  CASTE  THREE 

finance  via  the  bond-selling  route  was  in  order  to  pro- 
cure enough  money  for  his  expenses  at  law  school 
at  Harvard. 

"  I  'm  off  for  the  effete  East  next  fall,  about  the 
time  that  you  enter  Chicago,"  Reed  said. 

Under  cover  of  the  semi-darkness  created  by  the 
overhanging  trees  on  Twelfth  Street,  a  darkness 
through  which  flickered  gleams  from  the  street-lights 
and  the  moon,  Hewitt  put  his  hand  familiarly  on 
Reed's  shoulder. 

"  I  'd  like  to  see  old  Paul,"  he  remarked.  "  Fine 
little  wife  he  has,  isn't  she?" 

Reed  agreed  that  she  was. 

"  But  it 's  the  single  life  for  you  and  me  for  a  few 
years,  eh,  Hugh,  old  boy?"  he  went  on.  "It'll  be 
five  years  before  I  settle  down  on  nothing  a  year,  and 
it  '11  be  longer  for  you.  We  should  worry,  though. 
It 's  a  big  world,  and  there  are  lots  of  things  happening 
all  the  time.  So  why  weep  because  you  can't  have  a 
wife  to  support?  " 

Hewitt,  having  never  been  seriously  worried  about 
his  inability  to  support  a  wife  for  many  a  year  to 
come,  agreed  with  all  his  friend  said.  He  was  not  so 
enthralled  by  a  present  which  had  been  dull  until  to- 
day, when  things  had  brightened  up,  but  the  next  year 
would  be  a  great  one. 

Lights  were  shining  in  most  of  the  windows  on 
Twelfth  Street.  Hewitt  glanced  into  them  as  they 
passed.  The  houses  were  well-furnished.  From  one 
of  the  more  beautiful  a  sound  of  music  issued,  and  he 


CASTE  THREE  147 

saw  a  young  girl  sitting  reading  under  a  lamp  in  an- 
other. 

The  Trimble  house  was  an  old  fashioned,  white 
frame  structure,  redeemed  from  the  commonplace  by  a 
wide  stretch  of  lawn  broken  by  artistically  arranged 
shrubbery.  A  fragrance  of  lilacs  was  wafted  to  the 
two  young  men  as  they  went  up  the  steps  to  the  small 
square  veranda. 

Dr.  Trimble  opened  the  door,  and  Reed  introduced 
himself  and  Hewitt.  They  seated  themselves  in  the 
hall  and  talked  to  Dr.  Jimmy  —  every  one  in  Alston 
who  had  watched  him  grow  into  manhood  called  him 
Dr.  Jimmy  —  about  current  affairs.  That  is,  Kenneth 
Reed  talked.  Hewitt's  eyes  kept  wandering  to  the 
top  of  the  stairs  which  led  out  of  the  hall.  Soon  he 
was  rewarded  by  the  sight  of  Mary  Young.  She  was 
descending  in  a  dark  suit  and  wore  white  summer  furs. 

Hewitt  was  reminded  of  his  manners  by  the  sudden 
rising  of  Dr.  Jimmy  and  Reed.  In  the  excitement  of 
seeing  Mary  he  had  forgotten  them.  Besides,  he  had 
let  them  grow  stale  in  Alston;  Grace  did  not  seem  to 
mind  whether  or  not  one  remembered  to  be  polite, 
outside  of  certain  limits. 

"  Mr.  Reed !  I  am  so  pleased,"  Mary  Young  said, 
with  a  delighted  smile.  "  And  Mr.  Stevenson.  To 
think  I  didn't  even  know  you  two  knew  each  other! 
Terrible!  And  both  from  Chicago!" 

The  inference  that  everybody  in  Chicago  knew 
everybody  else  brought  the  expected  smiles. 

"  Tell  Martha  I  '11  be  in  whenever  these  young  men 


148  CASTE  THREE 

bring  me  home  from  the  Lyceum  entertainment  at  the 
Methodist  church,  Jimmy.  Good-night." 

Her  animation  was  delicious.  Hewitt  was  unable 
to  do  anything  but  admire  in  silence.  Kenneth  Reed 
managed  to  more  than  match  her  witticisms.  They 
played  into  each  other's  hands  in  great  glee,  and 
allowed  Hewitt  to  applaud.  He  walked  very  straight, 
with  his  head  thrown  back.  He  must  not  shame  Mary 
and  Reed  by  slouching.  His  habits  in  that  direction 
had  been  bad  of  late.  It  had  seemed  to  make  so  little 
difference  in  Alston  whether  or  not  you  carried  your- 
self well.  In  Chicago  one  instinctively  did  it,  because 
appearances  counted  for  so  much,  but  several  times 
during  this  uneventful  winter  it  had  seemed  to  him 
that  nothing  in  the  world,  no  big  achievement,  could 
have  made  Alston  admire  him,  the  stranger  in  its  heart. 
He  was  in  it,  but  not  of  it.  Such  a  decision  was  an- 
noying when  it  pushed  itself  into  his  consciousness. 

The  trio  arrived  at  the  Methodist  Church  a  trifle 
late  from  the  musical  point  of  view,  but  at  the  proper 
moment  if  you  were  self-conscious  enough  to  desire 
your  entrance  to  be  impressive.  The  orchestra,  a 
seven-piece  string  orchestra  of  some  merit,  was  play- 
ing at  the  moment,  and  they  waited  near  the  door- 
way. Then  they  were  ushered  to  their  seats  half-way 
down  the  aisle.  Mary  sat  between  Reed  and  Hewitt. 
There  was  a  stir  about  them  as  they  sat  down.  People 
were  watching  them.  Their  late  entrance  made  them 
conspicuous,  and  Mary  Young  always  created  a  stir 
in  Alston.  Hewitt's  desire  for  attention  was  wellnigh 


CASTE  THREE  149 

satisfied  by  the  feeling  that  a  great  many  eyes  were  on 
the  group  of  which  he  was  a  minor  but  throbbing 
part. 

Mary  smiled  at  him  as  she  turned  her  head  while 
taking  off  her  black  hat  and  laying  it  on  her  lap.  Her 
attention  then  switched  again  to  Kenneth.  Hewitt  re- 
gretted that  this  was  so,  but  Reed  was  saying  low 
things  in  her  ear  about  Alston  audiences.  So  he  gave 
his  attention  to  the  people  in  the  church. 

The  auditorium  was  crowded,  even  the  balconies  be- 
ing in  use.  Hewitt  recognized  some  business  men  and 
their  families,  many  young  women  whom  he  saw  daily 
without  ever  being  told  their  names,  and  a  scattering 
of  young  men  who  were  factory-workers  and  clerks. 
All  were  rather  well-dressed,  and  some  even  smartly. 
The  younger  portion  of  the  crowd  was,  however, 
leavened  with  old  people, —  staunch  church-goers 
every  line  of  their  earnest,  intent  faces  said, —  who 
revered  the  church  and  all  entertainments  held  within 
its  walls. 

Hewitt  had  heard  about  this  lyceum  course.  He  re- 
membered that  some  one  had  asked  him  to  buy  a  ticket 
for  a  dollar  in  the  autumn.  Later,  he  understood,  you 
paid  more  and  reserved  your  seat.  He  had  rejected  the 
offer  to  be  allowed  to  hear  an  orchestra,  a  quartette, 
some  Scotch  singers,  a  lecturer,  a  humorist,  and  a 
reader  at  intervals  throughout  the  winter  and  spring, 
even  at  such  a  reduced  figure.  Such  inanities  — 
sentimental  vocalists  and  platform  speakers  —  were 
not  for  him.  When  he  wanted  to  spend  an  evening 


150  CASTE  THREE 

in  entertainment,  he  preferred  a  good  book  that  he 
could  select  for  himself  on  its  merits.  No  frappe 
lyceum  program,  thank  you! 

Now,  to  his  surprise,  he  found  that  he  was  enjoying 
the  whole  affair.  He  was  convinced  that  the  presence 
of  Mary  and  Reed  accounted  for  his  interest,  yet  — 
An  old  woman  back  of  him  was  whispering  to  her 
equally  aged  husband: 

"  Mary  Young.  Who  are  the  men?  "  he  heard  her 
say. 

"  Don'  know.     Strange,  ain't  they?  " 

"  Maybe ;  but  I  think  the  young  one  worked  at 
Smith's." 

This  was  food  to  Hewitt's  liking,  though  somewhat 
plainer  than  he  would  have  desired. 

A  murmur  of  conversation  filled  in  the  intervals  be- 
tween the  music. 

"  What  is  the  next  selection,  Hewitt?  "  Mary  turned 
with  her  program  to  ask  him.  "  I  can't  pronounce  it. 
Mr.  Reed  pretends  that  he  can,  but  he  refuses  to  help 
me.  Do  tell  me,  please." 

Hewitt  looked  his  ignorance. 

"  Search  me ! "  he  said  slangily.  "  I  only  know 
German  well." 

"Oh!"  sighed  Mary.  "Isn't  this  German?  I 
only  read  French  and  — "  she  whispered  this  — "  I 
read  it  with  great  difficulty." 

"  It  looks  like  Russian  to  me,"  Hewitt  ventured, 
while  he  flushed  because  Mary  was  talking  to  him. 

"Russian?"    Reed    echoed.     "Never!     It's    Bui- 


CASTE  THREE 

garian.  I  '11  wager  you  on  that.  Plain,  every-day 
Bulgarian." 

Mary  examined  him  suspiciously.  Then  she  turned 
to  Hewitt. 

"  I  don't  believe  he  really  knows.  We  '11  decide  — 
you  and  I  —  whether  it  sounds  like  Bulgarian  to  us. 
What  is  your  idea  of  Bulgarian;  weird  and  elusive?  " 

Hewitt  was  not  sure  about  his  ideas  on  any  subject 
except  one  —  Mary  Young  was  more  beautiful  than 
Mrs.  Stewart  and  was  the  most  charming  woman  in 
the  world.  She  was  delightful.  He  caught  his  breath 
when  she  looked  at  him  so  intently,  so  pleadingly,  in- 
cluding him  in  a  league  with  her  against  Kenneth. 

The  music  began  again,  and  he  listened. 

"  Was  it  Bulgarian  ?  "  Mary  asked  anxiously,  when 
he  turned  to  her  at  the  end  of  it. 

"  Russian,"  Hewitt  asserted,  with  such  calm  assur- 
ance that  Reed  laughed. 

"  I  'm  helpless  in  the  face  of  Hewitt's  mentality," 
he  acknowledged.  "  He  knows  everything.  Have 
you  discovered  that  yet,  Miss  Young?  He  admits  that 
he  knows  everything.  He 's  a  pupil  of  the  great 
Letsky!  Ever  hear  of  Letsky?  Have  Hugh  tell  you 
about  him  some  time." 

"  Will  you  tell  me  some  time  ?  "  Mary  asked  Hewitt, 
her  eyes  on  his  so  that  he  had  to  quickly  glance  down 
at  his  program. 

"  He  will  never  tell  me,"  she  accused  him  to  Reed. 

"Oh,  he's  bashful." 

For  the  first  time  in  the  history  of  their  relations 


152  CASTE  THREE 

Hewitt  became  angry  with  Reed.  Bashful!  That 
child's  word!  Bashfulness,  the  sin  of  babies!  He 
raised  his  eyebrows  and  spoke  into  Mary's  ear  with 
exaggerated  savoir  faire. 

"  I  will  tell  you  some  time  very  soon,"  he  said,  look- 
ing at  her,  but  immediately  afterward  he  turned  to 
the  advertisements  in  his  program. 

Later,  when  they  were  making  their  way  out,  Ken- 
neth Reed  suggested  that  the  music  had  not  been  bad 
after  all. 

"  I  approve,"  Mary  said.  "  Did  n't  you  like  it, 
Hewitt?" 

Hewitt's  thoughts  were  lost  in  the  emotion  Mary 
and  the  music  had  colored  to  a  brilliancy  that  was  yet 
soft  with  glamour.  He  did  not  hear  what  she  said  to 
him,  did  not  know,  indeed,  that  she  had  spoken. 

"  Deaf,  dumb,  and  stone  blind !  Twas  ever  thus!  " 
laughed  Reed.  "  Up  in  the  clouds.  Now  what, 
Stevenson?  What  next?  Cabaret?  Theaters?  If 
not,  what?" 

Hewitt  had  no  idea  what  there  was.  He  knit  his 
brow  as  though  in  thought,  but  Mary  spoke  first. 

"These  Chicago  demands  in  Alston?  Why,  it's 
time  now  for  every  good  citizen  over  twenty  to  be  at 
home  and  in  bed!  The  little  children  went  long  ago. 
Only  the  high  school  boys  and  girls  are  allowed  up 
after  ten.  They  dance." 

"  Is  there  a  dance  to-night?  " 

"  I  am  speaking  in  general  terms." 

"  Well,  let 's  eat  at  the  Grand." 


CASTE  THREE  153 

"  Suits  me,"  said  Hewitt,  with  an  effort. 

Downtown  the  streets  were  thinly  peopled  under  the 
glare  of  the  five-branched  electric-lamps  forming  two 
narrowing  rows  along  the  main  streets. 

"  Some  town!  "  groaned  Reed.  "  Behold  the  Great 
White  Way!" 

"  Please !  "  begged  Mary.  "  It 's  a  lovely  town.  I 
love  it." 

"  I  thought  you  lived  in  California." 

"  Mother  does.  But  you  see  I  've  stayed  with  Dr. 
Jimmy  and  Martha  so  much  of  the  time  that  I  feel 
as  if  Alston  really  belonged  to  me.  I  'm  loyalty  itself 
to  Alston.  I  love  everybody  in  the  place." 

"  Which  shows  where  you  stand,  Hugh.  Wake  up 
and  thank  her,  boy !  " 

Hewitt  did  both  in  imitation  of  Reed's  mocking 
spirit,  but  he  wished  his  friend  less  noisy  and  less 
observing. 

They  passed  through  the  lobby  of  the  almost  de- 
serted hotel. 

"  Anything  to  eat  here?  "  Reed  asked  the  desk-man. 

"  Nothing  after  eight  now.  The  kitchen's  being  re- 
modelled." 

"  Great  guns !     I  wish  I  lived  here." 

They  all  laughed,  Reed  most  heartily  of  all. 

"  However  you  may  feel  about  Alston,  Indiana, 
Miss  Young,  I  can't  share  your  enthusiasm.  Is  there 
any  place  in  this  town  where  a  starving  man  who  has 
endured  a  lyceum  musical  can  get  something  to  eat  ?  " 

"  Let 's  try  Benton's,"  Hewitt  said. 


154  CASTE  THREE 

They  tried  Benton's,  and  found  themselves  in  a  close, 
hot  room,  with  a  counter  and  a  row  of  stools  running 
down  one  side  and  a  row  of  tables  down  the  other. 
Some  boys  were  perched  on  the  stools  devouring 
sandwiches  and  pie. 

Hewitt's  appetite  was  not  spoiled  by  the  atmosphere 
of  Benton's.  It  had  already  been  spoiled.  He  nibbled 
with  no  heartiness  at  a  club  sandwich  and  drank  a 
great  deal  of  water  without  quenching  his  thirst. 
Mary  Young  whirled  around  and  around  in  his  head. 
Was  there  ever  such  a  wonderful  person? 

Long  after  he  and  Reed  had  stopped  talking  that 
night  in  bed  at  the  Grand,  he  lay  gazing  into  the  dark- 
ness, trying  to  conjure  up  a  glimpse  of  Mary  as  she 
had  looked  when  she  asked  him  to  "  tell  her  some 
time."  Her  eyes  drowned  one!  He  dreamed  that  he 
was  touching  her  face  with  his  hands. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

BOOSTERS'  DAY,  which  Hewitt  hadn't  known 
existed  in  the  calendar  of  the  saints  until  shortly 
before  it  dawned  upon  Alston,  arrived  with  a  burst 
of  splendor  in  the  person  of  the  sun.  Not  that  it 
came  unheralded.  Its  glories  had  been  emblazoned 
for  weeks  on  bill-boards  spread  over  the  county.  To 
the  youthful,  it  rivalled  circus  day  as  to  promise. 
There  was  to  be  speech-making  and  athletic  contests 
in  the  morning,  dinner  at  most  of  the  churches  and 
lodges  at  noon,  and  in  the  afternoon  the  crowning 
event, —  a  great  parade,  with  floats  and  bands  and  all 
the  other  paraphernalia  of  a  great  procession.  Prizes 
would  be  awarded  for  the  best  floats.  Balloons  would 
be  sent  up  from  Athletic  Park,  with  ten-dollar  bills  in 
them.  "  Watch  the  Balloon !  "  "  Alston,  the  Great- 
est Town  in  the  State!"  "Alston  in  1830  and 
Now !  "  So  read  the  enormous  posters  throughout  the 
town  and  county. 

The  evening  before  this  important  day  was  fraught 
with  excitement.  People  were  already  coming  into 
town  to  spend  the  night  with  their  "  folks."  Some 
farmers  from  the  next  county  were  reported  to  be 
camping  for  the  night  in  a  stretch  of  woods  a  few 
miles  out. 

A  tense  cheeriness  was  characteristic  of  the  expres- 

155 


156  CASTE  THREE 

sion  on  eyeryone's  face  when  Hewitt  walked  down  to 
Smith's  just  before  seven-thirty  on  the  day  of  the 
event.  The  porter  at  the  drug-store  was  whistling 
furiously  and  loudly,  while  a  cloud  of  dust  preceded 
his  broom  as  he  swept  out  the  store. 

"  It  am  arrived ! "  he  grinned  to  Hewitt.  "  Bet 
it  '11  rain." 

"  Would  n't  dare.     We  'd  mob  the  weather-man." 

"  Yes,  suh,  it  '11  rain.  Jest  like  cuhcus  day,  suh. 
Allus  rains.  W'y,  last  cuhcus  day  this  town  was 
neahly  drownded  in  a  bad  thundah  stohm  that  blowed 
up  about  nine  o'clock,  and  some  folks  neahly  did  n't 
get  home  a' tall.  Yes,  suh,  it'll  rain."  He  chuckled 
as  he  continued  his  labors  on  the  side-walk. 

The  man  who  cleaned  Smith's  store  had  done  the 
greater  part  of  his  work  the  night  before. 

"  I  don't  take  no  chances  with  Mr.  Smith  on 
Boosters'  Day.  I  cleaned  all  up  last  night,"  he 
drawled  as  Hewitt  went  in.  "  Don't  believe  you  '11 
find  any  dirt  around,  Mr.  Stevenson.  I  cleaned  up 
good  last  night,  you  bet.  Mr.  Smith  '11  be  rampagin' 
'round  inside  o'  ten  minutes.  I  know  him ! "  He 
gave  a  last  flourish  of  his  dust-cloth  and  trailed  back 
to  the  rear  of  the  store. 

Before  eight,  according  to  old  Ben's  prophecy,  Mr. 
Smith  was  on  hand.  He  was  wearing  a  new  hat  that 
even  Mary  Young  could  n't  make  fun  of  and  a  fresh 
spring  suit.  As  usual,  his  spectacles  were  dangling 
from  their  string,  striking  his  white  vest  as  he  walked. 
He  strode  back  to  his  desk. 


CASTE  THREE  157 

"  Anybody  called  me  yet?  "  he  asked  Hewitt. 

"  Not  since  I  came  down.  Anything  I  can  do  to 
help?" 

The  man  glared  at  Hewitt  and  then  broke  into  a 
broad  smile. 

"  The  Lord  help  me  if  I  ever  manage  another 
Boosters'  Day!  I've  nearly  drowned  myself  in 
perspiration  already,  and  I  'm  not  half  done  and  it 's 
not  hot,  either.  I  had  Colonel  Whitcomb  from  Indian- 
apolis,—  best  old-fashioned  speaker  in  the  state, — 
scheduled  for  a  speech  this  morning.  I  advertised 
him,  and  late  last  night  I  got  a  telegram  that  he  's  sick 
in  bed.  How  's  that  for  luck  ?  Dumn  it !  " 

This  mild  explosive  of  very  doubtful  origin  Mr. 
Smith  only  used  on  especially  irritating  occasions. 
"  I  've  called  *  long  distance '  over  this  whole  con- 
sarned  state,"  he  went  on,  "  and  I  can't  get  a  soul  to 
speak."  He  puckered  his  lips  in  evident  thought. 
"  Look  here,  Hewitt.  Call  Eli  K.  Badger  at  Craw- 
fordsville  for  me.  I  bet  he  '11  speak,  and  he  '11  give 
'em  the  time  of  their  lives  while  he  's  doin'  it.  He  's 
got  a  patriotic  speech  that  '11  make  their  hair  stand 
on  end,  and  half  of  'em  will  want  to  enlist  in  the  army 
of  this  great  nation  to-morrow.  Hurry  up  and  get 
him,  or  I  '11  have  to  make  the  speech  myself !  " 

Eli  K.  Badger  would  speak,  Mr.  Smith  found  by 
8:15,  if  Alston  would  pay  the  expenses  of  an  auto- 
mobile trip  from  Crawfordsville;  he  could  not  get 
there  by  train.  "Pay!"  shouted  Mr.  Smith. 
"  We  'd  pay  for  a  private*car  on  a  special  train,  if  we 


158  CASTE  THREE 

had  to.  Tell  him  to  get  here,  Hewitt,  and  to  get  here 
quick!" 

Automobiles  were  already  honking  their  way  along 
Meridian  Street,  street-cars  were  unusually  noisy  as 
they  clattered  over  their  uneven  tracks,  and  an  air  of 
festivity  enwrapped  the  town.  A  vendor  of  patent 
whistles  shrieked  his  way  in  and  out  among  the 
rapidly  gathering  groups  of  boys  and  men,  advertis- 
ing his  wares  by  whistling  popular  airs  on  the  instru- 
ment. Hewitt  named  him  the  "  Infant  Calliope,"  and 
bought  a  whistle  for  Dorr  Coates,  who  came  in  to  wait 
for  his  mother  and  perched  himself  on  a  table  of  books 
to  watch  proceedings  until  he  was  permitted  to  take 
part  in  the  excitement. 

"  We  can  beat  Muncie  all  to  smash,"  he  boasted. 
"  They  did  n't  have  any  kind  of  a  team  last  year,  and 
how  could  they  work  up  a  good  one  this  early?  Old 
Cap  Resoner  can  throw  curves  around  their  batters! 
You  ought  to  see  Cap  pitch !  He  's  the  best  pitcher 
Alston  's  had  since  '  One  Armed  '  Ormsby  went  to  the 
big  league.  Old  *  One  Armed  '  was  some  pitcher,  be- 
lieve me!  "  He  accented  the  "  me  "  and  drew  up  his 
shoulders  to  add  emphasis  to  this  praise  of  the  hero. 
"  He  got  his  arm  cut  off  when  he  was  twelve  while  rid- 
ing on  a  freight-car.  He  was  some  pitcher!  Say, 
Hugh,  what  if  mama  won't  let  me  blow  this  whistle?  " 

"  You  try  it  out  at  Athletic  Park  at  the  ball-game, 
and  then  throw  it  away,"  Hewitt  suggested,  feeling 
uneasy  about  his  innocent  purchase,  now  that  he  was 
reminded  of  Mrs.  Coates's  point  of  view. 


CASTE  THREE  159 

"I  guess  not!"  Dorr  affirmed.  "You  gave  it  to 
me.  I  '11  tell  her  you  did,  and  then  she  can't  make 
me  throw  it  away,  because  that  would  look  as  if  I 
did  n't  appreciate  it.  See?  " 

He  attempted  a  tentative  blast  to  show  immediate 
appreciation,  but  Hewitt  called  quickly  to  him : 
"  Don't  blow  it  in  here,  Dorr.  Mr.  Smith  is  busy." 

"  Oh,"  said  the  boy,  and  swung  his  legs  to  show  that 
he  was  not  embarrassed  by  this  reprimand. 

Bunting-decorated  automobiles  began  to  appear  at 
nine,  carrying  the  members  of  the  G.  A.  R.  who  were 
to  have  positions  of  honor  at  the  court-house  steps 
during  the  speeches.  A  truck  with  a  load  of  muslin 
signs  attached  to  long  poles  rattled  across  the  car- 
tracks  and  down  Eleventh  Street.  Women  and 
children,  gallant  in  spring  array  that  was  worn  gen- 
erally only  on  Sunday,  began  to  gather  along  the 
streets. 

Mr.  Smith's  perturbation  had  not  decreased.  He 
was  talking  to  various  chairmen  of  committees,  and  his 
tone  grew  louder  with  every  conversation.  He  took  to 
bellowing  into  the  telephone,  and  banged  the  receiver 
up  and  down  on  the  hook  between  calls. 

"  Hello !  "  he  called  into  the  transmitter  in  tones 
that  made  that  instrument  almost  unnecessary.  "  Op- 
erator, speed  up  my  connections !  "  Followed  more 
clicking.  "  Operator,  I  'm  running  this  Boosters'  Day, 
and  if  you  don't  get  me  prompter  service,  we  won't 
have  any  parade.  Understand  ?  Nine-O-nine !  And 
be  quick !  " 


160  CASTE  THREE 

Mr.  Smith  became  at  last  entirely  angry. 

"  Dumn  those  girls !  "  he  exclaimed. 

A  loud  honking  of  a  hoarse  horn  in  front  of  the 
store  took  Hewitt  to  the  door. 

"Mr.  Smith  there?" 

"  I  '11  call  him." 

"Ask  him  if  he  got  somebody  in  Whitcomb's 
place?" 

"  Eli  K.  Badger  of  Crawfordsville.  He  '11  motor 
over.  Started  about  eight-thirty." 

"  Much  obliged." 

The  car  chugged  away  only  to  be  followed  presently 
by  another. 

"Smith  there?" 

"  Yes.     He 's  telephoning." 

"  Ask  him  where  the  Odd  Fellows  are  to  form  for 
this  parade." 

"  Jackson  and  Sixteenth  Streets." 

An  enormously  large  man,  burly  and  lumbering, 
stuck  his  head  in  the  door  soon  after  the  foregoing. 

"Smith  here?"  he  queried,  bulging  his  fish-eyes  at 
Hewitt  and  grinning. 

"  Back  there  telephoning." 

"  Ask  him  where  the  Elks  are  to  form  for  the  pa- 
rade." 

Mr.  Smith's  anger  was  not  mitigated  by  these  inter- 
ruptions. He  heard  the  question. 

"  Tell  him  to  go  to  hell  and  find  out !  "  he  roared. 

"  He  said  you  'd  have  to  ask  the  chairman  of  the 


CASTE  THREE  161 

parade  committee,"  Hewitt  told  the  man  at  the  door, 
scarcely  concealing  a  smile. 

"  Is  he  in  hell  ?  "  whispered  the  fat  man,  bulging  out 
his  eyes  farther  and  bursting  into  a  huge  guffaw  that 
shook  his  paunch  of  an  abdomen  and  made  the  veins 
in  his  neck  swell  blue. 

"  I  don't  doubt  it.  Mr.  Smith  is,  anyway,"  Hewitt 
said,  as  the  man  lumbered  away,  still  shaking,  to  re- 
peat the  story  at  the  bank-corner  where  some  brother 
Elks  were  holding  forth  over  huge,  black  cigars. 

Dorr  squirmed  during  this  last  episode.  He  did  n't 
see  the  same  joke  as  Hewitt  and  the  fat  Elk  did,  but 
he  thought  their  saying  a  word  forbidden  in  his  house- 
hold was  side-splitting,  and  he  lost  his  balance  and 
fell  to  a  sitting  position  on  the  floor  from  laughing. 

"  Watch  out !  "  Hewitt  warned  him.  "  They  want 
to  use  the  ambulance  in  the  parade." 

At  which  Door  laughed  so  hard  that  he  was  unable 
to  get  up,  and  was  still  sitting,  bent  with  "  the  giggles," 
as  he  called  them,  when  his  mother,  towing  his  starched 
and  beribboned  little  sister  by  the  hand,  came  in  after 
him. 

"  Oh,  Dorr,  your  clean  linen  trousers !  I  have  a 
good  notion  to  send  you  home  for  that !  You  've  got 
dirt  all  over  the  seat." 

Dorr  was  momentarily  nonplussed  and  angry. 
Everything  was  so  funny  on  Boosters'  Day!  And 
here  was  a  mother,  a  hindrance  to  fun,  ranting  about 
trousers ! 


162  CASTE  THREE 

"  They  're  not  dirty,"  he  denied,  brushing  them  with 
both  hands  and  keeping  the  spot  his  mother  had  in- 
delicately mentioned  by  name  to  the  rear  out  of  sight. 

"Dirty?     Turnaround!" 

He  backed  away,  red  and  angrier. 

"  They  're  not  dirty,  I  tell  you !  " 

"  Well,  come  on,"  she  sighed,  tugged  at  by  the 
impatient  little  girl.  "  Get  your  cap  from  that  case 
and  come  on.  Thanks  for  letting  him  stay,  Mr. 
Stevenson." 

"  No  trouble;  sorry  he  got  his  trousers  dirty." 

"  That 's  all  right.  He  would  have  in  a  minute,  any- 
way. You  can't  keep  a  boy  clean." 

The  store  was  momentarily  empty,  except  for 
Hewitt  and  Mr.  Smith.  But  not  for  long. 

Ernestine  burst  in,  clad  in  a  blue  linen  dress  and 
looking,  if  one  were  unprejudiced,  very  pretty.  She 
saw  her  father  and  ran  back  to  him,  with  only  a  nod 
for  Hewitt.  The  latter  smiled  and  determined  not  to 
let  that  make  any  difference  in  the  brightness  of  one 
of  the  few  really  happy  days  he  had  had  in  Alston. 
Boosters'  Day  was  being  very  amusing,  and  he  did  n't 
intend  to  allow  a  little  snob — for,  after  all,  that  was 
what  Ernestine  really  was,  he  concluded  a  little  bitterly 
—  interfere  with  his  content.  He  was  whistling  when 
she  came  back.  She  jumped  into  her  electric  and  spun 
away. 

A  few  customers  wandered  in,  cheerful  and  ready 
to  pause  and  pass  the  time  of  day  with  anyone  and 
everyone  on  Boosters'  Day.  "  Great  place.  Alston. 


CASTE  THREE  163 

Best  town  in  the  state.  Now  Indianapolis  was  a  fine 
city,  but  you  could  n't  be  so  comfortable  in  a  city  of 
that  size.  You  knew  people  in  Alston,  and  they  knew 
you,  and  yet  none  of  this  *  village  gossip '  stuff.  Big 
enough  to  give  everybody  a  business  to  mind,  and  a 
mind  to  mind  it."  And  so  on  ad  infinitum. 

At  ten-thirty,  or  thereabouts,  an  automobile  drew 
up  at  the  curb  and  blew  its  horn  long  and  repeatedly. 
Hewitt  was  on  his  way  to  the  door,  when  he  was 
informed  by  a  pompous,  white-haired  and  white- 
goateed  little  man  who  had  jumped  out  that  he  was 
Eli  K.  Badger  of  Crawfordsville.  Mr.  Badger's  pres- 
ence brought  a  gleam  of  hope  into  Mr.  Smith's  eyes. 
Things  might  turn  out  all  right,  despite  his  worry, 
once  the  morning  was  over.  He  strode  on  his  short, 
thick  legs  down  the  length  of  the  store,  mopping  his 
head  as  he  went  and  panting  audibly  from  exertion. 

"If  anybody  stops  here  and  wants  to  know  what 
to  do  next,  tell  'em  I  said  to  use  their  common  sense 
and  go  ahead !  And  say,  Hewitt,  lock  up  and  go  hear 
the  speeches.  You  can  come  back  and  open  up  in 
time  to  get  the  crowd,  and  you  ought  to  hear  them." 

"  I  '11  stay,"  Hewitt  said. 

"  Do  as  I  say.  Lock  up !  I  did  n't  think  about  it 
before." 

But  Hewitt  had  no  desire  to  mingle  with  a  warm, 
dusty,  blustery  crowd  in  order  to  hear  Eli  K.  Badger, 
ex-Governor  Keith,  Homer  Gray,  the  silver-tongued, 
and  W.  K.  Lombard,  president  of  the  school  board, 
make  speeches  on  Alston,  the  United  States  of  Amer- 


164  CASTE  THREE 

ica,  and  other  topics.  He  preferred  watching  the1 
crowds,  who  were  more  interested  in  toy  whips  and 
shooting  crackers  and  in  each  other  than  in  speech- 
making.  One  country  boy  in  a  bright-banded  straw 
hat,  ahead  of  the  straw-hat  season,  an  "  ice-cream  " 
suit,  brilliant  tan  shoes,  square-toed  and  heavy,  was 
getting  hilarious  with  a  whip  which  he  held  poised  in 
one  hand  so  as  to  tickle  the  uncovered  necks  of  the 
young  girls  who  passed.  Once  their  attention  was 
attracted  to  him,  he  ogled  and  winked  and  laughed, 
until  they  bantered  words  with  him  or  turned  away  in 
disgust,  their  faces  crimson  and  hauteur  written  large 
in  their  plump  dignity. 

"  Come  on,  girls !  I  'm  a  nice  boy.  I  '11  buy  you  a 
balloon.  Come  on  and  get  a  '  sody/  girls !  I  've  got 
a  nickel,"  he  called.  And  so  on  endlessly,  until  Hewitt 
had  to  close  the  door  to  keep  out  the  sound  of  what 
soon  ceased  to  be  amusing. 

By  noon  the  entire  state  seemed  to  have  emptied 
into  Alston.  People,  people,  people!  The  street-cars 
were  scarcely  able  to  make  their  way  through  the 
crowds,  and  the  "  interurbans "  clanged  their  bells 
constantly  in  forcing  a  path  down  Meridian  Street. 

Back  and  forth  surged  the  crowds. 

Mr.  Smith  pushed  in  through  the  jam  on  the  side- 
walk before  noon  and  told  Hewitt  to  lock  up  while 
he  went  home  to  lunch.  Mrs.  Chancellor  was  ill.  Mr. 
Smith  himself  was  off  to  the  Grand  Hotel  for  dinner 
with  Eli  K.  Badger.  Hewitt  caught  sight  of  Mr. 
Keith,  Homer  Gray,  and  Mr.  Lombard  in  the  automo- 


CASTE  THREE  165 

bile  outside,  the  center  of  the  crowd's  temporary  in- 
terest. 

At  noon,  on  his  way  home,  he  saw  numerous  evi- 
dences of  preparations  for  the  parade.  On  the  corner 
across  the  street  from  his  own  house  some  boys  were 
turning  an  immense  dray  into  a  float.  A  log  cabin 
was  being  constructed  on  a  platform  on  top  of  it,  and 
several  stumps  and  small  trees  were  in  position  around 
it 

Hewitt  smiled  as  a  tall  boy  astride  the  roof  of  the 
log  house  slipped  and  was  only  kept  from  falling  by 
a  smaller  boy  who  seized  his  foot  and  held  him  until 
he  regained  his  balance. 

"  Hand  me  some  nails !  "  called  the  former,  when  he 
was  once  again  in  position. 

"Get  'em  yourself!" 

"  How  can  I  ?  "  he  said  helplessly. 

"  I  eat  'em  alive !  "  yelled  a  barefoot,  ragged  urchin 
who  was  "  helping  "  by  pinching  the  legs  of  the  boys 
on  the  platform. 

"  Get  away  from  here,  you  rowdy ! "  recommended 
one  of  the  workers,  with  a  kick  at  the  offender. 

"  Where  's  George  Rogers  Clark?  "  called  some  one. 

"  Gone  home  to  have  his  mother  sew  his  trousers. 
What  'd  he  wear  his  costume  for  this  morning?  He  11 
have  to  pay  for  it.  They  came  from  a  costumer  in 
Indianapolis." 

"  Serves  him  right.  He  was  so  smart  about  Mrs. 
Lombard  choosing  him  for  George  Rogers.  I  'd 
rather  be  an  Indian,  anyway." 


166  CASTE  THREE 

As  Hewitt  came  up  on  the  porch,  a  woman  whom 
he  recognized  as  Mrs.  Lombard  stepped  out  of  a  blue 
electric-coupe  and  came  toward  them. 

"  Are  you  all  right,  boys?  "  she  asked. 

"  Tip  top,  except  George  Rogers  Clark.  He  tore 
his  trousers  and  had  to  go  home,"  said  the  tall  boy  on 
the  roof. 

"  That 's  too  bad.  Don't  fail  to  be  in  your  costumes 
at  two  sharp.  We  're  early  in  the  parade.  You  had 
all  better  go  and  get  your  dinners  now." 

"  We  're  not  finished.  We  '11  be  ready.  Looks 
pretty  good,  does  n't  it?  "  called  the  short,  sturdy  boy. 

"  It  looks  fine,  except  those  trees  are  n't  quite  steady, 
are  they?  " 

"We'll  fix  them.  Don't  worry.  We're  out  for 
the  prize." 

"  If  you  get  it,  I  '11  have  you  at  my  house  for  dinner 
tomorrow  night.  No.  I  tell  you,  you  may  all  come, 
prize  or  no  prize.  You  are  fine  boys  to  work  so 
hard." 

"  Hurrah  for  Mrs.  Lombard !  "  Hewitt  heard  as  he 
went  into  the  house,  laughing. 

"  Did  you  come  down-town?  "  he  asked  Grace  from 
the  bath-room.  Boosters'  Day  was  exciting  even 
Hewitt,  and  his  voice  showed  it. 

"  No ;  I  was  too  busy.     Was  it  nice  this  morning?  " 

"  Lots  of  people.  Did  n't  know  there  were  so  many 
people  around  Alston.  Never  saw  so  many  people 
since  election  night  in  Chicago.  I  did  n't  hear  any  of 
the  speeches.  I  kept  the  store  open." 


CASTE  THREE  167 

He  whistled  a  tune  that  the  "  Infant  Calliope  "  had 
been  specializing  on  all  the  morning,  and  splashed  the 
water  into  his  eyes  and  out  again  without  losing  a  note, 
except  when  the  towel  crossed  his  mouth. 

"  How  was  Eli  K.  ?"  he  asked  his  father  at  the  table. 

"  Eli  talked  like  he  had  his  mouth  full  of  hot  mush. 
If  I  was  him,  I  'd  stay  in  Crawfordsville." 

"Homer  Gray  fluent?" 

"  He  '11  be  in  the  Senate  before  he  knows  it.  He 
can  talk  more  and  say  less  than  any  living  orator." 

"What  about  Lombard?" 

"  Talked  sense.  Told  what  the  school  board  had 
done  this  year.  He  did  n't  embroider  it  any,  either. 
Lombard  's  all  right." 

"Who  else  spoke?" 

"  Keith  was  good,  too.  He  's  a  smart  man.  It 's 
too  bad  he  's  not  back  in  the  governor's  chair,  instead 
of  the  man  we  've  got  there  now.  A  darned  Democrat 
who  don't  know  a  good  man  when  he  sees  one.  Ap- 
pointed that  fool  Porter  from  Lafayette  to  go  to  Wash- 
ington to  represent  this  state  at  that  agriculturalist 
meeting,  and  Porter  don't  know  beans  when  the  bag  's 
opened.  He  'd  think  they  were  potatoes  or  cherries." 

"  Nice  weather  for  Boosters'  Day,  ain't  it?  "  said 
old  Mr.  Stevenson  weakly.  He  had  been  helped  to 
the  table  by  Hewitt.  He  was  getting  weaker  as  the 
spring  advanced,  instead  of  stronger  as  they  had  ex- 
pected. 

"I'm  about  gone,  ain't  I,  Hewie?"  he  sputtered, 
when  he  had  stopped  sneezing. 


i68  CASTE  THREE 

"  I  guess  not.  You  've  got  twenty  years  before  you 
yet,  grandpa.  Perk  up!  You  sit  out  on  the  porch 
this  afternoon  and  you  can  see  the  parade  form.  It 's 
going  to  start  along  here." 

"  Mebbe,  mebbe.  My  soup  's  too  hot,  Grace,"  he 
whimpered. 

Hewitt  was  loquacious.  Even  grandfather  laughed 
at  his  tale  of  Mr.  Smith  and  the  fish-eyed  Elk.  After 
dinner  he  sat  on  the  porch  and  watched  the  boys  across 
the  street  working  on  the  float. 

"  Get  busy  here,  George  Rogers !  "  they  were  shout- 
ing at  a  new  arrival.  "  Lot  of  business  you  got  tearin' 
your  pants  and  taking  time  out  on  such  an  occasion 
as  this.  Got  your  dinner,  too,  did  n't  you  ?  " 

The  hero  of  the  Revolution  grinned,  without  deign- 
ing a  reply,  and  fell  to  work.  Presently  he  explained 
that  he  had  n't  had  much. 

"  Say,  fellows,  have  you  seen  the  Preston  float  ? 
It 's  great." 

"  No,  we  did  n't  tear  our  pants." 

"  They  '11  get  the  first  prize." 

"What  d'  we  care?  We're  having  fun,  aren't 
we?  "  said  the  tall  boy,  still  working  on  the  roof. 

"  Sure.  You  ought  to  see  the  florist's  float,  too." 
George  Rogers  Clark  was  volunteering  all  this  depress- 
ing information. 

"  Say,  George  Rogers,"  began  the  tall  boy,  as  he 
pushed  himself  along  the  roof,  "  what  have  you  been 
doing  besides  getting  your  clothing  repaired?  " 

"  'Fess  up,  boy!  "  came  the  chorus. 


CASTE  THREE  169 

"  I  met  Mrs.  Lombard  up  on  Fourteenth  street,  and 
she  took  me  to  see  the  others." 

"  All  right,  if  Mrs.  Lombard  did  it.  Otherwise  we 
would  have  had  to  deal  with  you  in  our  own  convincing 
manner,"  he  was  reassured  by  the  roof-maker. 

Hewitt  stood  up  and  stretched  himself,  then  started 
out  for  the  store. 

People  were  still  thick  on  the  streets,  although  on 
Meridian  itself  the  crowd  was  smaller.  He  was  not 
busy  at  the  store  and  sat  idle  between  sales,  watching 
the  passersby.  Mr.  Smith  puffed  in  at  two  o'clock. 

"Anybody  called  here?  I  wonder  if  this  parade 
will  get  off,  even  at  two-thirty.  Half  the  floats  are  n't 
done  yet.  I  wish  you  'd  call  Harry  Brandon  and  tell 
him  I  said  to  put  the  out-of-town  bands  back  of  the 
Alston  ones.  The  Alston  men  are  sore  because  I  sent 
them  to  the  rear.  Call  him  right  away,"  and  out  again 
he  went. 

The  parade  was  later  than  two-thirty.  At  three, 
when  the  first  float  trundled  into  view  down  Meridian, 
preceded  by  a  boy's  band  playing  the  state  song,  the 
tired  spectators,  foot-sore  and  apathetic,  again  took 
courage.  A  shout  went  up  along  the  line  of  march. 

Hewitt,  from  a  vantage  point  in  the  show-window 
at  Smith's,  where  he  sat  contentedly  on  a  box  and  won- 
dered incidentally  what  Letsky  would  say  if  he  could 
see  him  interested  in  an  Alston  Boosters'  Day  parade, 
watched  float  after  float  rumble  by.  Scenes  from  the 
history  of  Indiana,  including  one  showing  the  founding 
of  Alston  by  an  Indian  chief,  came  first.  Then  came 


170  CASTE  THREE 

exhibitions  from  the  various  factories  and  business 
houses.  The  bankers'  association  had  a  double  dis- 
play on  two  automobile  trucks  —  banking  in  1830  and 
in  1913.  The  leading  florist  rode  in  an  automobile,  a 
canopy  of  roses  over  a  body  banked  in  carnations  and 
the  wheels  massed  in  sweet  peas.  Smith's  "  electric  " 
carried  a  bevy  of  girls  dressed  as  Civil  War  belles.  It 
was  labelled  "  Our  Grandmothers."  Mr.  Smith  him- 
self drove  a  gasoline  car,  posted  with  banner  advertise- 
ments of  books  by  Indiana  authors. 

Bands,  playing  patriotic  airs,  were  interspersed 
throughout  the  length  of  the  procession. 

Toward  the  end  several  automobiles  loaded  with  the 
members  of  the  Suffrage  League  passed.  They  were 
carrying  yellow  parasols  and  yellow  banners  bearing 
mottoes  advocating  votes  for  women.  In  the  first  one, 
driving  Dr.  Trimble's  car,  sat  Mary  Young. 

Hewitt  saw  her  and  trembled. 

As  she  reached  a  position  directly  in  front  of 
Smith's,  she  looked  up  and  saw  Hewitt  on  his  box  in 
the  window.  She  gave  him  a  wave  of  her  free  hand 
and  a  radiant  smile.  He  quivered  with  pleasure  and 
followed  her  with  his  eyes  until  he  could  no  longer  see 
her, —  only  a  blur  of  yellow  banners. 

Wonderful  Mary  Young,  with  her  gaiety  and  her 
provoking  smile  and  her  remembering!  It  was  as  if 
she  had  known  that  Hewitt  had  been  scanning  every 
car  for  a  glimpse  of  her,  and,  having  found  her,  would 
have  lost  all  content  in  the  day  if  she  had  failed  to 
look  for  him  in  Smith's.  She  had  not  failed.  Mary 


CASTE  THREE  171 

Young  was  not  the  kind  ever  to  fail  one  who  put  his 
trust  in  her  sympathy,  Hewitt  decided. 

During  the  rest  of  the  afternoon  he  ignored  the 
march  of  feet  of  tired  but  enthusiastic  pleasure-seek- 
ers, and  read.  He  read  Keats.  Keats  alone,  of  all 
poets,  could  express  the  sensuous  perception  of  joys, 
even  though  all  joys  were  fleeting,  as  were  Hewitt's 
after  Mary  Young  remembered  to  wave  at  him  in  his 
inconspicuous  position  as  keeper  of  the  book-store. 
He  was  a  youth  piping  on  the  Grecian  urn,  and  Mary, 
the  maid,  was  ever  young,  ever  dancing,  ever  pursued. 
"  What  wild  ecstasy !  " 

She  cannot  fade,  though  thou  hast  not  thy  bliss, 
Forever  wilt  thou  love,  and  she  be  fair! 

And,  happy  melodist,  unwearied, 

Forever  piping  songs  forever  new; 
More  happy  love !     More  happy,  happy  love ! 

Forever  warm  and  still  to  be  enjoyed, 
Forever  panting  and  forever  young; 
All  breathing  human  passion  far  above, 

That  leaves  a  heart  high-sorrowful  and  cloy'd, 
A  burning  forehead  and  a  parching  tongue. 

Wonderful,  wonderful  Mary  Young,  who  could  fill 
him  with  an  emotion  that  only  Keats  could  express 
for  him !  He  did  not  care  to  see  her  again  soon, —  that 
day  nor  any  day.  It  was  enough  that  she  was  on  the 
urn  among  other  beauties,  a  beautiful  figure  wrought 
by  Beauty's  and  Love's  own  hands,  serene,  marbled, 
in  the  land  of  Greece. 


CHAPTER  IX 

AN  old  man  with  a  pack  on  his  back,  a  very  heavy 
pack,  walked  from  the  East.  In  Greece  he  be- 
came young  again  and  was  curious  with  the  curiosity 
of  youth.  He  made  his  world  beautiful  with  marble, 
and  thought  and  spoke.  An  old  man  again,  he  sailed 
to  Rome,  and  there  he  became  young  once  more.  He 
organized  his  world  with  law  into  a  great  state,  and 
fought  and  was  happy  with  the  vigor  of  fighting  youth. 

When  he  was  again  old,  he  moved  north.  For  a 
long  time  he  slept,  while  his  world  built  a  religion  with 
a  form  and  scourged  itself,  or  lavished  luxury  on  itself, 
and  was  ascetic  or  wanton  according  to  its  kind.  He 
awoke  and  built  cathedrals  to  house  his  thoughts  of  an 
omnipotent  God,  cathedrals  that  rivalled  the  temples  of 
Greece,  full  of  the  paintings  of  a  renaissance. 

A  great  ocean  containing  monsters  stretched  to  the 
west  with  a  sea  of  fire  and  ogres  at  the  end  of  that. 
But  the  old  man  slept  and  awoke  filled  with  a  strange 
yearning  to  conquer  this  deep.  He  found  a  shore 
where  gold  was  plentiful,  and  he  fought  again,  and 
seized  the  gold. 

Age  crept  upon  him,  when  he  returned  to  a  land 
where  gold  would  buy  much. 

A  child  stretched  itself  in  a  great  land  to  the  west, 

172 


CASTE  THREE  173 

—  the  old  man  in  a  new  form, —  a  child  who  strutted 
and  danced  and  made  fine  phrases  about  himself,  gay 
in  the  splendors  of  new  dress  which  some  one  —  he 
was  not  certain  who  was  the  giver  —  had  put  upon 
him.  Vivid,  strong,  colorful,  the  child  played  and 
laughed  at  age,  bubbling  with  the  glorious  effervescence 
that  is  the  charm  of  childhood. 

What  matter  that  the  child  in  its  gay  apparel,  with 
gold  and  grapes  and  woods  around  him,  scampered  and 
ran  and  laughed  at  the  temples  and  the  cathedrals  and 
the  law  other  young  men  had  made?  He  wanted  to 
be  happy  and  do  deeds  and  surprise  a  gasping  world 
with  his  own  new-found  prowess. 

He  will  become  old.  Let  us  not  wish  age  upon  him. 
He  still  dances.  He  is  proud  of  his  finery.  He  is  the 
old  man  with  the  pack  —  the  heavy  pack  —  become  a 
child  again  on  a  new  continent. 


CHAPTER  X 

ONE  night  early  in  May  Hewitt  started  out  at 
seven  for  a  walk  into  the  country.  The  spring 
night  was  ravishing.  Cool,  perfumed,  laden  with  the 
sense  of  new  life,  it  made  its  way  into  the  boy's  veins 
like  wine.  He  walked  far  out  along  Eighth  Street 
past  the  best  of  Alston's  residences  to  a  point  where 
the  town  dwindled  into  country.  Smooth  and  almost 
straight,  like  a  ribbon,  the  road  stretched  before  him, 
bordered  by  clumps  of  dark  shadow  that  proved  to  be 
trees  when  one  approached  them. 

Light  in  the  east  showed  Alston,  but  here  was  the 
open  road. 

Here  and  there  a  house  with  a  light  peered  through 
the  twilight.  Sometimes  the  sound  of  voices  pierced 
the  evening  stillness,  but,  as  he  walked  on,  the  farms 
grew  larger  and  the  houses  farther  apart.  A  tide  of 
loneliness,  a  joyful  tide,  as  though  all  the  winter  he 
had  been  waiting  for  this  moment,  swept  through 
Hewitt  as  he  breathed  in  the  sweet  smell  of  the  soil, 
of  growing  things.  He  walked  in  tall,  wet  grass  which 
grew  rank  along  the  road.  The  soft,  damp  earth  gave 
under  his  steps,  lending  a  welcome  elasticity  to  his 
movement. 

Some  frogs  croaked  bleakly  and  gurgled  from  a 

i74 


CASTE  THREE  175 

pond  in  the  middle  of  a  field.  The  lights  from  an 
approaching  automobile  blinded  him  as  it  came  nearer, 
and  he  stood  silent,  while  it  whirred  past  him  and  was 
lost  in  the  distance.  He  looked  back  again  at  the  town, 
and  the  light  was  even  brighter  now  with  the  radiance 
of  a  nearly  full  moon  rising  in  the  east. 

As  the  moon  brightened,  it  lighted  up  the  mist  which 
was  rising  from  the  damp  fields.  In  places  this  was 
an  impenetrable  fog,  hiding  the  lower  part  of  the  land- 
scape, but  disappearing  in  the  brightening  upper  air. 
Out  of  it  might  have  suddenly  come  Puck  or  Peas- 
blossom  or  any  faery  host,  unsurprised  by  and  unsur- 
prising to  a  gray-eyed  boy  who  would  have  stood  firm 
for  talk. 

"  On  such  a  night."  .  .  . 

What  had  not  happened  in  other  worlds  in  the  long 
ago  on  "  such  a  night "  ? 

And  yet  he  was  glad  that  it  was  his  night,  that  he 
was  walking  down  a  road  leading  from  Alston,  alone 
but  surrounded  by  an  invisible  life  which  pulsed  and 
murmured  like  silence  itself. 

Mary  Young  had  talked  with  him  that  day.  Or, 
perhaps,  she  had  let  him  talk  to  her  about  Keats. 
Mary  remembered  the  name,  she  was  sure,  from  her 
school-days,  after  Hewitt  had  spoken  for  a  while  about 
his  poetry.  He  had  read  her,  in  such  a  low  tone  that 
no  invading  customer  would  know  what  they  were  en- 
gaged in  reading,  "The  Ode  to  a  Grecian  Urn."  She 
had  listened  with  her  eyes  half-closed,  her  chin  almost 
touching  his  shoulder  as  she  leaned  forward. 


176  CASTE  THREE 

"  Do  you  like  it  ?  "  she  asked  curiously,  when  he  had 
finished. 

"  I  like  it,"  was  his  way  of  saying  lamely  that  it  was 
the  most  beautiful  poem  in  the  world. 

"  Have  you  read  it  many  times  ?  " 

He  did  not  tell  her  that  he  had  read  it  hundreds  of 
times  since  Boosters'  Day,  with  Mary  Young  among 
those  happy  figures  on  the  urn. 

"  Do  you  like  all  poetry,  or  only  Keats?  "  she  asked, 
still  with  the  curious  light  in  her  eyes.  She  continued 
to  hold  them  half-closed  as  she  talked  to  him. 

"  Oh,  one  selects.     I  like  a  great  deal  of  poetry." 

"  You  read  so  much,  don't  you?  "  Her  tone  made 
this  sound  like  an  accusation,  and  he  was  quick  to  re- 
sent what  another  could  have  said  with  no  such  effect, 
because  he  would  have  been  contemptuous  of  an  igno- 
rance which  did  not  put  a  proper  value  upon  his  blessed 
books. 

"  Not  so  much,"  he  said.  "  At  least,  I  did  n't  used 
to  read  so  much.  I  've  kept  up  with  my  study  this 
winter,  because  I  didn't  want  to  get  rusty  in  — 
Alston." 

"  Is  there  any  danger  of  getting  rusty  in  Alston  ?  " 

It  had  been  quite  a  question  and  answer  affair,  he 
thought  now,  as  he  traced  his  way  through  the  soft, 
swishing  grass  and  at  the  same  time  through  the  con- 
versation of  the  afternoon. 

"Don't  you  find  it  so?"  he  had  asked,  with  some 
of  the  same  curiosity  he  had  felt  in  her  voice. 


CASTE  THREE  177 

She  had  paused  and  examined  him  again,  and  then 
had  rippled  into  a  light  laugh. 

"  I  read.  Does  that  keep  one  bright  and  shining, 
like  a  good  stew-pan  in  *  Spotless  Town  '  ?  " 

"What  do  you  read?"  he  asked,  with  a  hint  of 
hostility.  He  had  rather  she  did  not  laugh  that  way 
when  she  was  talking  to  him. 

But  she  had  ended  the  whole  conversation  by  turn- 
ing away  to  jest  with  Mr.  Smith  in  the  back  of  the 
store,  and  had  not  answered  his  question.  He  had 
been  sorry  for  his  tone,  and  blamed  himself  for  her 
not  answering.  He  had  not,  he  decided  now  in  the 
moonlight,  been  entirely  courteous.  Had  there  been 
a  hint  of  whimsicality  in  her  eyes  when  she  turned 
away  ?  Why  had  it  been  there,  if,  indeed,  it  had  been  ? 
Surely  she  approved  of  reading  persons. 

He  pushed  this  doubt  of  her  intellectuality  away 
from  him.  Had  n't  she  made  that  remark  about  brains 
counting  in  any  place  ?  And  had  n't  she  talked  of 
amusing  herself  with  Harper's  in  the  way  Ernestine 
Smith  would  have  spoken  of  entertaining  herself  with 
a  low-grade  popular  novel?  And  she  had,  on  the  lat- 
ter occasion,  spoken  with  the  contempt  of  the  person 
who  commonly  reads  heavier  material. 

Of  course  Mary  Young  was  intellectual!  She  was 
the  one  person  in  Alston  on  whom  he  could  count  for 
sympathetic  understanding.  He  could  not  doubt  that. 

The  road  ran  into  a  little  valley,  and  a  sweep  of 
cooler,  water-drenched  air  blew  past  his  face,  chilling 


178  CASTE  THREE 

him  until  a  gradual  rise  in  the  ground  made  the  air 
warm  again.  A  stone  wall,  low  and  inviting,  half- 
swathed  in  the  mist  which  continued  to  rise  from  the 
fields,  bordered  the  road  at  this  point.  He  pulled  him- 
self up  on  it  and  sat  swinging  his  crossed  feet  in  con- 
tented solitude. 

He  had  never  in  his  life  felt  so  consciously  alone 
with  God,  or  whoever  it  was  who  dominated  this 
rolling  country  which  seemed  to  dip  down  at  the  hori- 
zons to  form  its  sphere  —  whoever  lived  in  the  great 
expanse  of  sky  with  its  multitude  of  stars  whispering 
together.  Somewhere  in  the  heights  of  the  sky,  behind 
the  blackness  of  that  immensity,  was  a  good  God,  he 
felt  sure  to-night.  He  was  in  sympathy  with  Alston- 
ian  Methodist  and  Presbyterian  notions  about  a  per- 
sonal God  of  Love  —  to-night. 

He  liked  to  look  up  at  the  sky  with  a  dim  hope 
of  seeing  into  it.  Vast  distances  opened  up  if  one 
looked  for  a  long  time,  though  at  last  there  came  a 
point  where  minute  atoms  danced  back  and  forth  and 
blinded  one. 

The  moon  traveled  higher  and  higher  in  the  east, 
flooding  the  country  with  its  white  light. 

A  low  "  roadster  "  was  creeping  toward  him  from 
the  west.  Its  lights  were  dim,  and  it  turned  slowly 
into  a  cross-roads  fifty  yards  from  where  Hewitt  sat. 
He  was  not  intent  upon  it;  his  mind  was  following 
the  changes  in  his  thought  and  in  the  night. 

He  was,  however,  watching  it,  and  the  conviction 
came  suddenly  that  the  girl  in  the  "  roadster,"  sitting 


CASTE  THREE  179 

low  and  with  her  face  turned  away  toward  the  man, 
was  Mary  Young.  Somehow  he  did  not  want  to  think 
about  this.  He  could  not  even  tell  why  he  was  so  sure 
about  the  truth  of  his  impression.  He  had  never  seen 
the  hat  before,  he  felt  sure,  even  in  the  moonlight.  He 
had  been  thinking  about  Mary  shortly  before,  he  told 
himself;  that  was  why  he  had  thought  of  her  when 
the  "  roadster  "  rounded  the  curve. 

But  he  could  not  argue  himself  out  of  the  convic- 
tion. 

In  following  the  car  with  his  eyes,  he  perceived  that 
the  man's  arm  was  around  the  girl's  shoulder,  and  that 
they  were  leaning  toward  one  another. 

A  wave  of  overwhelming  jealousy  brought  a  film 
over  Hewitt's  eyes.  Who  was  the  man?  A  swift 
fury  tore  Hewitt's  heart  at  the  thought  of  this  strange 
man's  touching  Mary.  He  slid  down  from  the  wall 
and  watched  the  "  roadster  "  as  it  slid  quietly  down 
the  road.  Before  it  disappeared  behind  a  clump  of 
bushes  at  the  roadside,  the  man  leaned  closer  to  the 
girl.  Suddenly  the  beauty  went  out  of  the  night. 
His  wonderful,  radiant  Mary  Young!  The  man  and 
the  girl  had  kissed  each  other,  he  felt  certain,  just  be- 
fore they  passed  out  of  sight  behind  the  trees.  He 
shivered  as  though  he  were  chilled.  Why  should 
Mary,  whom  he  had  placed  on  the  Grecian  urn, —  a 
beautiful  maiden  without  flesh,  who  would  outlast  time, 
—  why  should  she  be  kissing  a  man?  He  wondered 
who  the  man  was.  The  incident  was  earthy,  sordid. 
And  it  was  not  like  the  Mary  of  his  dreams. 


i8o  CASTE  THREE 

Each  time  he  came  back  to  this  conclusion,  and  by 
the  time  he  had  walked  back  to  the  city  streets  again 
he  had  convinced  himself  that  it  had  not  been  Mary 
at  all.  How  could  he  have  been  sure  at  fifty  yards 
by  moonlight?  He  called  himself  a  fool  and  shook 
off  his  feeling  of  having  been  injured  physically. 

He  sat  up  late  in  his  room,  reading  some  vol- 
umes of  poetry  he  had  found  at  the  library.  They 
were  new.  Mr.  Smith  never  bought  new  poetry. 
There  were  huge  volumes  of  Tennyson  and  Browning, 
desultory  ones  of  Keats  and  Shelley  and  Byron  and 
Wordsworth,  ugly,  awkward  sets  of  the  nineteenth 
century  American  poets,  on  his  shelves,  but  he  scorned 
recent  poetry  as  a  salable  article  of  merchandise. 

So  Hewitt  bathed  himself  in  emotion  from  a  library 
copy  of  some  verse  of  the  moderns. 

In  and  out  through  it  all  walked  a  sweet,  enchanting 
ghost  of  Mary  Young,  clothed  in  a  thousand  soul -gar- 
ments,—  tender,  swift-footed  enemy,  friend,  mother, 
responsive  lover,  cruel,  faithless  woman, —  in  and  out 
interminably,  until  a  weary  young  man  with  gray  eyes 
and  dark  hair  and  thin  legs  found  the  print  blurring 
under -his  eyes  and  went  to  bed,  where  he  continued 
to  be  haunted  by  a  phantom  that  rose  out  of  the  mists 
of  moon-lit  fields  and  evaded  him  endlessly,  disappear- 
ing with  a  whimsical  laugh  as  he  touched  the  spot 
where  she  had  been.  He  dreamed,  too,  that  he  and 
Eleanor  Rowe  were  riding  through  a  dark  country 
in  a  low  "  roadster."  He  was  going  to  kiss  her,  but 


CASTE  THREE  181 

just  as  he  leaned  toward  her,  Mary  Young  arose  out 
of  the  bushes  by  the  roadside,  laughing  a  delicious, 
gurgling  laugh  that  sent  the  shivers  up  and  down  his 
spine.  He  woke  and  pulled  the  comforter  over  him. 
He  was  shaking  with  a  chill. 

Any  inclination  he  might  have  felt  to  brood  over  his 
night  glimpse  of  some  one  who  might  have  been  Mary 
Young  evaporated  in  the  clear  light  of  the  May 
morning  that  followed.  He  cast  the  whole  episode 
into  the  sphere  of  the  unbelievable  and  was  cheerful 
about  all  his  relations  with  the  world.  There  was  a 
reaction  in  him  to  the  mood  which  had  led  him  to 
take  a  walk  in  the  country  at  all,  and  he  became  glow- 
ingly social.  In  Hewitt's  case  this  "  being  social  " 
took  the  form,  of  course,  of  conversations  with  Mr. 
Smith,  Mrs.  Chancellor,  and  customers,  lengthened 
from  the  brief  business  speeches  generally  indulged  in 
because  necessary. 

It  was  impossible  for  him  to  be  social  in  the  sense 
that  Mary  Young,  entering  into  the  lives  of  half  the 
yeople  she  met,  was  social. 

He  engaged  his  employer  in  a  conversation  on  the 
uselessness  of  such  an  institution  as  the  family. 

Mr.  Smith  was  a  firm  believer  in  that  venerable 
institution.  How  else  could  one  rear  children  to  their 
advantage  ? 

Hewitt  himself  believed  in  the  family.  Letsky  had 
given  him  books  to  read  which  proved  that  when  man 
was  emerging  from  the  animal  stage  and  starting  to- 


182  CASTE  THREE 

ward  human  society,  the  family,  in  primitive  agricul- 
tural society  under  the  domination  of  the  mother,  was 
a  thriving  and  satisfactory  affair. 

But  for  purposes  of  being  social  a  difference  in  opin- 
ions was  desirable;  so  he  objected  to  the  family  and 
gave  his  reasons.  How  many  children  were  well- 
reared  ?  How  many  children  were  brought  up  to  wit- 
ness the  harmony  which  is  the  concomitant  only  of 
intelligent  love  between  the  sexes?  How  many  had 
the  advantages  —  well,  even  of  an  orphan  asylum, 
for  instance? 

Mr.  Smith  hurried  to  the  rescue  of  the  home.  The 
family  was  sacred.  The  Methodist  Church  sanctioned 
it.  Let  it  rest ! 

So  Hewitt  let  the  family,  Mr.  Smith,  and  himself 
rest  awhile,  without  maligning  the  Methodist  Church 
as  an  intelligent  institution,  selecting  other  most  highly 
profitable  social  institutions. 

There  were  many  other  subjects  in  the  world  well 
worth  discussion.  The  main  trouble  in  bringing  them 
up  before  Mr.  Smith  was  that  Mr.  Smith  did  not  want 
to  discuss  them.  The  world  was  a  pleasant  place  when 
one  got  the  things  one  wanted,  and  he  had  done  so. 
He  desired  money  within  limits,  enough  to  supply  his 
own  and  his  children's  needs  —  and  those  of  the  latter 
were  numerous  and  expensive,  as  befits  a  leisure  class 
whose  conspicuous  waste  is  a  test  of  its  importance. 
He  had  wanted  a  loving  wife  and  "  nice  "  children,  and 
he  had  them.  His  wife's  expression  of  her  love  was 
not  what  some  men  would  have  desired,  but  it  satis- 


CASTE  THREE  183 

fied  him.  He  wanted  her  to  be  social,  if  she  chose. 
He  had  wanted  to  count  in  Alston,  and,  indeed,  he  did 
count.  He  was  one  of  the  best  citizens.  What  more 
was  there  in  the  world  to  want? 

He  had  never  expressed  himself  so  baldly  as  this  to 
Hewitt,  but  the  boy  understood  his  position.  It  is 
a  pleasant  position,  though  it  was  not  Hewitt's.  But 
then,  Hewitt's  desires  were  too  vague  to  be  written. 
He  did  n't  know  what  he  wanted,  which  is  a  very  un- 
satisfactory state  of  affairs.  Being  sure  of  their 
desires  did  n't  run  in  his  family, —  on  his  mother's  side, 
at  least.  You  always  wanted  more  than  you  had, 
and  made  some  effort  to  get  it,  although  not  always 
a  consistently  forceful  effort.  Sometimes  it  was  a 
soul  you  wanted;  you  did  not  know  for  sure  what 
a  soul  was,  and  so  you  never  knew  whether  or  not  you 
had  achieved  possession  of  it.  Sometimes  you  wanted 
money.  You  worked  then  and  schemed,  and  if  you 
did  n't  get  as  much  as  you  wanted  without  too  great 
a  strain  of  effort,  you  wanted  a  philosophical  attitude 
which  made  money  cease  to  matter.  That  obtained, 
you  wanted  something  else.  Hewitt  had  not  shown 
strong  signs  of  this  trait  up  to  date,  because  Letsky 
and  Mr.  Woody  had  been  so  sure  of  only  one  important 
value  —  the  intellectual  —  and  he  had  been  influenced 
by  their  wants. 

However,  he  realized  that  only  unintellectual  people 
were  satisfied.  They  could  form  no  imaginative  con- 
ception of  themselves  in  a  more  pleasant  or  a  more 
dignified  position.  He  had  often  admired  himself  for 


184  CASTE  THREE 

vague  glimpses  of  what  he  dubbed  rightly  or  wrongly, 
a  "  divine  discontent." 

"  You  '11  never  reach  a  right  conclusion  until  you 
have  gone  through  a  series  of  wrong  ones,"  Mr. 
Woody  used  to  say,  to  defend  more  conservative 
thinkers  to  Letsky  and  his  coterie. 

So  this  May  morning  between  sales,  while  he  was 
working  in  the  back  of  the  store,  Hewitt  wanted  to 
draw  wrong  conclusions,  or  almost  any  kind  of  con- 
clusions, just  so  there  would  be  good,  hot,  spicy  argu- 
ment about  sex  in  novels.  He  knew  that  all  people 
who  know  what  a  novel  is  have  strong  opinions  on  sex 
in  novels.  Hewitt  believed  in  and  read,  when  he 
had  time,  all  the  starred  books  in  the  libraries.  He 
did  n't  think  they  should  be  starred.  That  was  the 
work  of  the  bulk  of  sensuous,  hide-bound,  silly  people 
who  were  so  afraid  their  innocent  girl-babes  —  it  was 
all  right  for  their  sons ;  one  could  n't  know  what  boys 
read  and  did  —  would  find  out  something  about  the 
great  secrets  of  the  flesh  that  they  could  n't  let  the 
subject  be  mentioned  in  the  household,  but  allowed  the 
afore-mentioned  babes  to  find  out  such  secrets  in  the 
approved  way  from  companions  in  the  worst  possible 
form. 

"  But  spare  our  daughters !  "  quoth  the  sensuous, 
hide-bound  silly  people. 

According  to  Hewitt, — 

"  Don't  inflame  us !  "  quoth  they,  also.  "  In  the 
face  of  sex  we  are  helpless,  the  creatures  of  a  powerful 
law.  Let  us  avoid  mention  of  sex  —  in  novels.  We 


CASTE  THREE  185 

can  learn  of  sex  in  moving-pictures  and  on  the  vaude- 
ville stage  and  in  cheap  musical  comedy,  but  save  us 
from  sex  in  literature.  So  sacred  do  we  hold  our 
right  to  smile  at  the  suggestive,  while  spurning  the 
real."  Hence  one  of  Hewitt's  chief  joys  on  his 
"  social  "  days  was  to  argue  about  sex.  Other  people 
were  shocked  in  the  first  place,  then  found  him  very 
amusing.  He  became  an  enigma  to  the  curious,  who 
could  n't  tell  whether  he  was  really  bad,  or  only  a 
high-brow. 

This  morning  he  put  out  a  tentative  statement,  swal- 
lowing his  smile.  Mr.  Smith  remained  silent,  but  a 
scowl  showed  that  he  had  heard. 

Hewitt  tried  again. 

"If  people  were  n't  so  underhandedly  interested  in 
sex  as  a  pastime,  they  would  n't  mind  having  it  put 
into  books,"  he  averred  with  gusto. 

"  Shut  up !  "  growled  Mr.  Smith. 

"  Take  most  young  men,  Mr.  Smith.  They  blush 
and  want  a  fellow  to  hush  up  when  I  mention  sex  in 
my  way." 

"Young  fools,"  was  Mr.  Smith's  reluctant  com- 
ment. It  was  out  before  he  could  prevent  it. 

"  Sex  is  more  interesting  to  more  people  than  any- 
thing else  in  the  world,  is  n't  it  ?  " 

"Shut  up!" 

"  All  right.     That  puts  you  in  Joe  Bales's  class." 

This  impudence  brought  a  chuckle,  but  the  scowl 
followed. 

"  When  do  you  think  the  good  citizens  who  won't 


1*86  CASTE  THREE 

allow  Dreiser's  books  on  the  open  shelves  will  put 
that  good  old  conservative  institution,  the  red  light 
district,  out  of  commission?  " 

"  Look  here,  Son.  There  are  a  lot  of  things  that 
you  don't  understand.  You  're  meddling  with  fire 
when  you  touch  a  big  human  proposition  like  sex. 
Now  go  to  work  and  keep  still.  We  haven't  settled 
prostitution  yet  any  place  in  the  world." 

"  As  animals,  we  did  pretty  well,  but  now  that  we 
are  men  — "  Hewitt  shrugged. 

"  We  're  still  animals." 

"  No.  Savages  have  a  well-controlled  system  for 
sex  satisfaction.  They  're  temperate  by  their  own  law. 
We  're  not." 

Mr.  Smith  regarded  him  questioningly,  his  eyebrows 
still  lowering  pugnaciously. 

"  You  are  wrong.     Savages  are  the  worst." 

Hewitt  could  not  swallow  his  smile  this  time. 

"  They  learned  all  the  vileness  they  know  from 
civilized  men.  Scientists  have  proved  that." 

"The  devil  they  have!" 

"  I  can  prove  it  to  you." 

"H'm.     All  right.     Shut  up,  now." 

This  "  being  social "  drove  Hewitt  into  other  action 
while  he  was  alone  in  the  store  shortly  after  noon.  He 
took  down  the  telephone  receiver  with  great  calmness 
and  called  Dr.  Trimble's  number.  By  the  time  he  got 
Mary  Young  to  the  telephone,  however,  some  of  his 
social  calm,  never  deep,  had  left  him,  and  he  stuttered 
ridiculously  in  telling  her  who  he  was. 


CASTE  THREE  187 

"  Did  n't  you  think  I  did  lovely  in  the  parade  ?  "  she 
asked,  with  her  delicious  laugh. 

"  I  should  say !  But  what  I  want  to  know  is, 
whether  —  when  I  can  come  down  to  tell  you  about 
Letsky?" 

"  To-night,"  Mary  stunned  him  by  answering. 

"  I  '11  come.     Thank  you.     At  eight." 

This  calling  of  Mary  seems  at  first  glance  to  have 
been  a  spontaneous  proceeding  acted  out  on  impulse. 
Further  consideration  of  his  action  proves  it  to  have 
been  premeditated. 

On  the  first  of  May  Hewitt's  account  at  the  bank 
stood  at  figures  approaching  two  hundred  and  fifty 
dollars.  This  meant  that  by  September,  when  he  left 
for  Chicago,  should  he  continue  to  save  fourteen  dol- 
lars out  of  eighteen,  he  would  possess  nearly  four 
hundred  and  fifty  dollars.  This  mammoth  and  awe- 
inspiring  sum  would  insure  his  residence  as  a  student 
in  Chicago  University  for  three  terms,  if  he  were 
careful  of  expenditure.  He  became  as  near  a  miser 
as  a  bank-book  would  allow  him  to  be.  Rubber- 
banded,  it  lay  in  his  pocket.  When  he  felt  unusually 
unimportant  in  Alston,  he  opened  and  read  it. 

But  while  on  May  first  the  book  read  two  hundred 
and  fifty  dollars,  on  May  tenth  it  read  two  hundred 
and  twenty,  and  he  had  been  paid  between  those  dates. 
Sanely  considered,  with  import  observed  and  digested, 
these  facts  point  in  one  direction  —  reckless  extrav- 
agance. 

On  the  night  when  he  set  out  from  Fourteenth  and 


i88  CASTE  THREE 

Jackson  Streets  for  Twelfth  Street,  his  appearance 
proved  our  deductions  correct.  He  was  clad  in  a  blue 
suit  of  good  cut,  which  had  cost  thirty  dollars.  He 
wore  a  silk  shirt.  Its  price  had  been  three  dollars  and 
fifty  cents.  His  shoes  —  unheard-of  extravagance  — 
had  cost  eight  dollars.  He  was  the  proud  wearer  of 
silk  socks.  A  new  soft  hat,  with  a  jaunty  turn  to  the 
brim  in  exact  imitation  of  Kenneth  Reed's,  completed 
his  costume.  Total,  forty-five  dollars  and  fifty  cents, 
exclusive  of  unmentionables. 

He  felt  uncomfortably  new,  dressed  up,  expensive. 
But  by  slouching  just  a  little,  according  to  old  habits 
half-discarded  of  late,  he  felt  that  his  newness  was 
not  evident  to  others.  Also,  blowing  his  nose  when- 
ever he  passed  anyone  who  seemed  to  be  mentally  com- 
menting on  his  appearance  kept  him  from  feeling  so 
noticeable  at  the  moment.  His  handkerchief  was  quite 
damp  by  the  time  he  reached  Dr.  Trimble's. 


CHAPTER  XI 

HEWITT  had  evolved,  in  the  course  of  his  travels 
through  this  vale,  various  theories  concerning 
heaven.  This  night  proved  them  all  wrong  —  for  an 
hour,  at  least.  Heaven  was  not,  as  he  had  supposed 
in  childhood,  aided  by  pictures  in  a  mammoth  religious 
book  reposing  on  the  "  stand  "  in  the  farm-house,  a 
place  where  one  tiptoed  around  on  hard,  outlined  clouds 
that  should  have  been  feathery  but  were  not;  where 
golden-haired  angels  (they  were  never  anything  but 
golden-haired,  by  some  inexplicable  discrimination 
against  brunettes  in  the  population)  played  on  golden 
harps,  surrounded  by  babies  possessing  arms  and  slight 
pin-feather  wings,  but  no  bodies.  Heaven  was  not 
summer  fields  with  sunshine  and  daisies,  a  dream  of 
his  earlier  adolescence,  when  work  made  one  doubt 
the  essential  goodness  of  the  godly  plan.  Heaven  was 
the  porch  of  the  old-fashioned,  wide-lawned  Trimble 
house  on  Twelfth  Street,  Alston,  Indiana. 

Dr.  Jimmy,  pulling  his  long  legs  reluctantly  over  the 
porch  floor  on  his  way  to  save  old  Mrs.  Cantline  from 
a  death  she  had  approached  and  evaded  ten  times  in 
one  month,  did  not  know  that  he  was  treading  the  floor 
of  heaven.  He  was  unconcerned,  and  spoke  to  Mrs. 
Trimble  about  having  a  carpenter  mend  one  of  the 
pillars  supporting  the  roof.  It  was  rotting  at  the  base. 

189 


190  CASTE  THREE 

He  was  ignorant  of  other  things,  too.  He  did  not 
know  that  Mary  Young,  who  was  impudent  to  him  as 
he  descended  the  steps  as  slowly  as  though  Mrs. 
Cantline  really  were  dying  this  time  and  he  did  n't  care, 
was  the  queen  of  heaven.  He  thought  in  the  inno- 
cence of  mature  manhood  that  she  was  his  wife's  rela- 
tive spending  a  few  months  with  them  until  Martha 
and  the  children  went  to  the  lakes  for  the  hot  weather. 

Mary  herself  would  have  been  surprised  if  she  had 
known  just  how  high  was  the  position  she  occupied 
above  the  earth. 

Only  Hewitt,  sitting  in  the  swing  with  one  foot 
thrown  nonchalantly  over  the  other,  knew  all  these 
things.  He  also  knew  that  neither  Joe  Bales  nor  any 
of  his  set  could  have  been  more  at  their  ease  on  any 
Twelfth  Street  veranda  than  he  was  on  the  Trimbles'. 
He  felt  as  important  as  even  he  could  have  wished, 
and  unusually  facile  of  speech.  He  felt  keyed  up  for 
talk  —  talk  on  an  elevated  plane,  different  from  the 
talk,  violent  talk,  into  which  Letsky's  and  Bowman's 
and  Simeon's  conversations  often  degenerated.  This 
talk  was  to  be  combined  with  cleverness  and  wisdom, 
rich  in  wit,  bubbling  with  brilliance,  in  short,  the  talk 
of  the  elite. 

To  begin  with,  there  were  obstacles  to  a  free  flow 
of  language  which  Hewitt  had  not  counted  on.  A 
group  of  boys  who  belonged  to  the  set  which  danced 
and  motored  and  played  pool  and  went  to  Indianapolis 
with  frequency  were  sitting  on  Caroline  Walker's  steps 
next  door  to  the  Trimbles,  and  they  were  close  enough 


CASTE  THREE  191 

so  that  bits  of  their  conversation  floated  unsought  to 
where  Hewitt  and  Mary  were  sitting. 

Their  presence  would  not  have  disturbed  Hewitt 
himself,  except  that  Mary  laughed  several  times  at  the 
remarks  which  penetrated  to  them. 

"What  d' you  know  about  Kokomo?"  some  one 
said  in  the  tone  of  the  retort  discourteous. 

"  I  know  something  you  never  learned  there !  I 
know  when  to  leave! "  This  was  followed  by  a  roar 
of  laughter. 

Hewitt's  remarks  on  the  weather  and  Boosters'  Day 
and  other  subjects,  supposed  to  be  proper  preliminaries 
to  the  real  talk  of  the  evening,  were  cut  into  disgust- 
ingly by  these  and  other  comments.  How  could  one 
be  expected  to  be  brilliant,  even  though  stimulated  by 
clothing  which  had  cost  forty-five  fifty,  when  the  one 
to  whom  you  were  addressing  your  brilliancy  kept 
smiling  at  other  people's  remarks?  Mary  must  have 
at  last  seen  that  her  visitor  was  becoming  piqued  by 
his  position  as  runner-up,  and  stopped  paying  attention 
to  drifting  fragments  from  next  door.  Anyway,  the 
young  people  over  there  were  dividing  up  into  pairs 
and  strolling  off.  Two  —  and  from  where  Hewitt 
was  sitting,  he  would  have  said  they  were  Ernestine 
Smith  and  Gerald  Kahn, —  ran  out  to  the  Walker  car 
in  front  of  the  house  and  jumped  into  the  back  seat. 

Hewitt  settled  himself  more  comfortably  on  the 
swing,  now  that  rivalry  was  eliminated. 

"  Let 's  see.  I  promised  to  tell  you  about  Letsky, 
didn't  I?" 


192  CASTE  THREE 

"  Yes,"  Mary  smiled  at  him.  "  But  first,  have  you 
heard  from  Kenneth  Reed  since  he  left?  " 

"  Not  a  word.     Have  you  ?  " 

"  Just  a  tiny  note  from  Indianapolis.  He 's  sweet, 
is  n't  he?" 

Hewitt  would  n't  have  gone  that  far  in  qualifying 
Reed's  likeableness,  but  he  acquiesced.  Mary  seemed 
to  expect  it  of  him. 

"  Do  you  think  he  will  really  go  to  Harvard,  as  he 
expects?  " 

"  I  should  say.     He  's  set  on  it." 

"How  old  is  he?" 

"  About  —  let 's  see  —  twenty-three." 

"  He 's  sweet,"  Mary  repeated  needlessly. 

Conversation  lapsed.  If  Mary  really  wanted  to 
hear  about  Letsky,  it  was  her  place,  after  having 
stopped  Hewitt's  first  attempt,  to  ask  for  more  details. 
Instead,  she  sat  smiling  to  herself  absent-mindedly. 

"What  have  you  been  reading?"  he  asked,  when 
the  silence  had  become  painful  to  him. 

"  Bright,  clever,  appallingly  light  stories  in  mag- 
azines," she  said,  and  deepened  her  smile. 

"  Do  you  like  them?  "  He  wanted  to  hear  her  dis- 
dain them. 

"  Well,  in  summer,  you  see  —  It  is  summer,  is  n't 
it,  Hewitt?  It  has  been  almost  hot  to-day." 

Hewitt  thought  this  was  self-evident  and  that  an 
answer  was  unnecessary,  so  he  remained  silent.  He 
observed  the  stars,  the  trees,  the  Walker  automobile, 
and  finally  Mary's  hair,  and  he  liked  the  last  best.  In 


CASTE  THREE  193 

the  dim  light  from  a  rising  moon  it  looked  pretty,  he 
thought,  brought  up  from  her  ears  in  that  way,  show- 
ing tiny  black  points  in  the  lobes  of  her  ears.  He 
had  always  hated  earrings,  because  Grace  wore  small 
gold  ones  through  holes  that  were  really  pierced  in  her 
ears.  Barbaric.  But  Mary  Young's  were  different. 

"  Why  don't  you  come  and  sit  in  the  swing? "  he 
ventured  in  a  low  tone. 

"  Do  you  want  me  to?  " 

"  Of  course." 

"  Then  I  shall  sit  in  the  swing." 

He  felt  better  after  that.  She  must  like  him,  or  she 
would  n't  sit  in  the  swing  with  him. 

"  I  found  a  poem  in  a  new  book  last  night  that  I 
liked,"  he  said  after  he  became  used  to  having  her  so 
near  him.  "  I  thought  of  you  when  I  read  it." 

"Did  you?     That  was  sweet  of  you." 

"Do  you  want  to  know  what  it  was  about?" 

"  Do  tell  me,  please !  "  she  pled  with  him,  frightened 
that  he  would  not, —  at  least,  so  her  voice  sounded. 

How  beautiful  she  was  when  she  turned  her  head 
half-toward  him  in  that  way!  Her  dress  was  of  some 
fine,  transparent,  dark  tissue  that  clung  softly  to  her 
arms.  He  felt  a  desire  to  touch  it. 

"  It  was  about  a  boat  on  a  sea.  A  man  was  in  it 
with  a  girl  he  —  liked.  The  sea  was  sparkling  with 
sunlight,  and  he  thought,  as  they  moved  out  into  it, 
that  an  after-life  must  be  like  that  —  serene  and  peace- 
ful and  full  of  — love." 

She  looked  him  full  in  the  eyes,  but  her  own  were 


194  CASTE  THREE 

half-closed  in  that  queerly  disturbing  way  she  had, 
and  there  was  a  peculiar,  puzzling  smile  on  her 
lips. 

"  Why  did  that  make  you  think  of  me?  "  she  asked. 

"  Because  " —  he  paused,  and  then  decided  that  a 
lie  was  safer,  "  the  description  of  the  woman  was  like 
you." 

"  Oh,"  she  said. 

"Alston  is  a  very  queer  town,  isn't  it?"  he  men- 
tioned after  a  while. 

"Is  it?     How?" 

"  No  one  reads  poetry  here." 

"  Do  they  in  other  places?  " 

"  Oh,  yes.     I  think  so." 

"  Perhaps  they  do  here." 

"  I  have  n't  met  anyone,  except  one  school-teacher, 
who  does." 

"  Well,  let 's  count  her,"  she  laughed  roguishly. 

"  She 's  oldish." 

Mary  laughed  harder  than  ever,  that  delicious  laugh 
that  made  him  echo  it. 

"  All  right.  We  won't  count  her.  Only  young 
poetry-readers  shall  count.  But  there  are  a  great 
many  people  in  Alston  whom  you  don't  know,  are  n't 
there?" 

:<  Ye-e-es,"  he  was  unwilling  to  admit.  "  But  no 
one  buys  poetry." 

"  Perhaps  they  already  have  the  books." 

"  They  could  n't ;  at  least,  not  new  poetry." 

"  Is  n't  there  any  other  kind  ?  " 


CASTE  THREE  195 

He  paused  and  examined  her  profile  intently.  Was 
she  arguing  with  him? 

"  Oh,  there  are  the  classics." 

"  Perhaps  Alston  reads  the  classics." 

"  Have  you  ever  read  Tennyson?  "  he  asked.  This 
was  in  the  nature  of  a  test  question. 

"  Every  one  does,"  she  said,  falling  short  of  the 
standard  of  Hewitt's  ideal  of  a  discriminating  reader. 

"  He  's  insipidly  commonplace,"  he  announced. 

She  glanced  at  him  again  with  her  half-closed  eyes 
and  provoking  smile.  "  You  are  hard  to  please." 
But  there  was  flattery  in  the  accusation.  "  I  suppose 
every  one  passes  through  the  stage  of  liking  Tenny- 
son ?  "  she  suggested. 

"  And  then  outgrows  him,"  he  replied. 

"Whom  do  you  like?" 

Hewitt  studied  the  stars.  Whether  or  not  Mary 
guessed  the  answer  —  very  personal  and  provocative 
of  annoyance,  perhaps  —  which  almost  slipped  out,  she 
spoke  quickly.  "  You  read  so  much,"  she  said. 

"  You  said  that  the  other  day." 

"  You  must  be  careful  not  to  let  life  slip  by  while 
you  read  about  life." 

He  turned  his  head  to  look  at  her,  astounded  and 
hurt.  She  was  not  an  intellectual,  to  doubt  his  read- 
ing. 

"  One  lives  in  books,"  he  defended  himself. 

"  Not  the  same  way.  Experience  is  where  one  lives 
truly." 

"  When  you  read  Browning's  '  Rabbi  Ben  Ezra/ 


196  CASTE  THREE 

for  instance,  you  mean  that  you  have  not  lived  very 
—  poi-g-nantly  ?  "  He  pronounced  the  "  g." 

"Very  what?"  Mary  asked  curiously. 

"  Poi-g-nantly,"  he  repeated. 

"  Do  you  want  me  to  tell  you  something?  "  she  asked 
gently. 

He  nodded. 

"  You  are  mispronouncing  it." 

She  instantly  regretted  her  cruelty,  for  he  flushed 
and  winced. 

"  I  '11  pronounce  it  any  way  I  choose,"  he  said 
angrily,  trying  to  cover  his  confusion. 

"  It 's  better  to  conform  in  the  matter  of  pronunci- 
ation." 

Silence. 

A  breeze,  arising  as  the  moon  brightened,  stirred  the 
trees  and  tossed  Mary's  hair  from  her  forehead. 

"  Are  you  very  angry  with  me?  "  she  asked  him  with 
a  soft  intimacy,  laying  her  hand  on  his  for  a  second. 

"  I  am  not  angry,"  he  denied. 

"  Yes,  you  were.  I  could  feel  it  in  the  air.  Fiery 
breath,  you  know." 

He  laughed  outright. 

"  Anyway,  whether  Alston  reads  poetry  or  not,  it 's 
interested  in  money,  money,  money !  "  he  burst  out 
with,  when  the  air  had  been  cleared  of  the  fiery  breath. 
"  Alston  is  overflowing  with  Monera." 

"What  are  Monera?" 

"  They  're  a  low  order  of  animals.  They  just  exist 
to  absorb  food." 


CASTE  THREE  197 

"And  Alston  is  like  that?" 

He  was  sure  of  it,  and  said  so. 

"  What  makes  you  think  so?" 

"  Every  one  wants  money ;  they  have  n't  time  for 
anything  else." 

"  Is  Chicago  so  different  ?  "  she  questioned. 

That  nonplussed  him. 

"  There  are  some  intellectuals  in  Chicago." 

"  And  none  in  Alston  ?  " 

Silence,  while  he  considered  this. 

"  You  don't  know  that  Alston  would  n't  be  very  con- 
siderate of  —  genius,  let  us  say." 

He  shook  his  head. 

"  Alston  would  be  willing  to  recognize  genius  after 
it  had  made  good  somewhere  else,  but  Alston  would  n't 
understand  genius."  Then,-  for  fear  she  might  think 
he  thought  himself  a  misunderstood  genius,  which  he 
didn't  —  Letsky  might  have  the  spark,  but  he  did  n't 
—  Hewitt  went  into  an  explanation.  "  Suppose  — 
well,  suppose  that  Keats  had  been  born  in  Alston?" 

Mary  was  willing  to  consider  Keats  in  this  con- 
nection. 

"  He  would  have  been  a  respectable  doctor,  or. — " 

"Or?" 

"  Or  a  complete  failure  as  a  doctor." 

"  Am  I  wrong  in  thinking  I  vaguely  remember  that 
he  was  a  failure  as  a  doctor  ?  " 

"  He  was ;  but  he  was  something  vastly  greater  than 
the  best  doctor." 

"  You  rate  poets  so  high  ?  " 


ig8  CASTE  THREE 

"  The  world  rates  literature  high  —  the  part  of  the 
world  that  counts." 

"And  which  part  is  that?" 

"  The  part  that  rates  literature  high,"  he  smiled. 

"Why  would  n't  Keats  have  become  a  great  poet  in 
Alston?"  she  wanted  to  know. 

"  Because  what  genius  needs  is  understanding,  and 
Keats  had  that  in  nineteenth-century  England.  Leigh 
Hunt,  for  instance,  and  a  hundred  others.  He  did  n't 
get  what  some  young  poets  nowadays  get  in  this 
country  —  a  little  condescending  notice  meant  to  make 
parlor-pets  out  of  them, —  but  real  understanding. 
They  cherished  and  fed  his  genius.  England  already 
held  up  an  ideal  of  great  poetry  to  him.  The  ideal 
is  in  the  English  air.  That  is  why  it  will  be  a  long, 
long  time  before  a  great  poet  will  come  out  of  the 
Middle  West.  There  are  not  enough  in  Alston  of 
what  some  modern  essayist  calls  '  masters-by-proxy/  ' 

"And  they?" 

"  They  foster  literature  by  their  intelligent  reading 
and  appreciation  of  it.  Keats  in  Alston — "  Hewitt 
shuddered.  "  He  would  have  been  neither  of  the 
things  I  first  said.  He  would  have  been  a  Chatter- 
ton." 

"  I  want  to  be  an  intellectual,"  Mary  begged. 

"  I  will  call  you  one,"  he  agreed,  looking  at  her, 
forgetting  about  the  horror  of  a  suicidal  Keats  and 
only  remembering  other  things  besides  Mary's  mind. 

"  But  don't  damn  Alston  entirely  until  you  know 
everyone.  Perhaps  you  will  find  that  a  great  many 


CASTE  THREE  199 

people  here  are  interested  in  the  same  things  that  you 
are." 

"  They  're  not.     They  don't  read  good  books." 

"  You  may  be  confounding  wisdom  and  reading." 

"  That 's  where  one  finds  wisdom  —  in  books,"  he 
asserted. 

She  shook  her  head  emphatically,  entrancingly. 

An  automobile  skidded  to  a  stop  in  front  of  the 
house. 

"  Mary !     Mary  Young !  "  called  a  woman's  voice. 

Mary  ran  out  to  the  car.     She  came  back  soon. 

"  We  're  going  for  a  ride,"  she  smiled  at  Hewitt, 
and  went  in  for  her  coat  and  hat 

He  did  not  want  to  take  a  ride  with  these  intruders, 
whoever  they  were.  He  wanted  to  continue  to  talk 
intimately  with  Mary  in  heaven.  This  being  suddenly 
thrown  out  into  a  cruel  world  which  did  n't  appreciate 
the  intellectual  at  all,  infuriated  him.  To  Mary,  he 
was  willing.  But  he  was  disappointed  in  her  for 
wanting  to  go. 

However,  he  followed  her  out  to  the  car  and  held 
her  arm  while  she  put  her  foot  on  the  running-board. 
The  young  man  in  front  said  with  emphasis  that  he 
wanted  her  with  him.  That  left  Hewitt,  when  Mary 
had  hesitated  for  a  second  and  then  acceded  to  his 
demands,  to  clamber  into  the  back,  where  he  sat  stiff 
and  angry,  on  the  folding  seat.  Three  women,  whom 
Mary  introduced  as  Mrs.  Lombard,  Mrs.  Carl  Haw- 
trey,  and  Katherine  Miller,  occupied  the  wide  seat. 

"  Of  course  Bob  would  seize  upon  Mary,"  Mrs. 


200  CASTE  THREE 

Hawtrey  said.  "  That  leaves  Mr.  Stevenson  in  the 
uncomfortable  position  of  entertaining  two  old  ladies 
and—" 

"  An  old  maid,"  Katherine  Miller  chimed  in. 
"  Let 's  not  be  delicate." 

"Where  to?  "  called  the  czarish  Bob. 

"  Indianapolis,  Mary?  " 

Mary  shook  her  head. 

"  Not  to-night.     Let 's  ride  out  into  the  country." 

"  Don't  you  race,  even  if  you  do  want  to  show  off 
our  new  car,"  Bob's  mother  warned  him,  with  a  twinkle 
of  her  small  blinking  eyes  at  the  rest  of  the  party. 

They  chugged  along  between  the  car-tracks  to  the 
edge  of  town,  where  the  chauffeur,  greatly  amused  by 
a  story  Mary  was  telling  him,  turned  into  a  smooth 
pike  and  heightened  his  speed. 

Hewitt  felt  awkward.  He  had  lost  all  signs  of  that 
capacity  for  wit  and  brilliancy  which  had  been  his  for 
a  few  happy  moments  earlier.  He  could  not,  think  as 
hard  as  he  could,  muster  up  a  single  remark  that 
wouldn't  have  been  ridiculously  inapropos  and  flat. 

Katherine  Miller  and  Mrs.  Hawtrey  were  talking 
about  a  club  meeting. 

At  last,  when  Hewitt  had  begun  to  feel  that  his 
silence  was  no  longer  bearable,  a  howling  condemna- 
tion of  dullness,  Mary  turned  in  her  seat  and  gave  him 
that  quick,  intimate  smile. 

"  Don't  let  Hewitt  monopolize  the  conversation," 
she  said  gaily  to  the  others.  "  He  '11  tell  you  how 
the  world  was  made  and  what  kind  of  animals  you 


CASTE  THREE  201 

were  before  you  became  ladies.  He  's  frightfully  in- 
tellectual, you  know,  and  terribly  disapproving  of 
small-talk."  She  whispered  the  last,  and  then  turned 
again  to  Bob  Hawtrey.  That  was  the  only  notice  she 
took  of  him  until  they  reached  home. 

He  thought,  even  after  these  words  of  Mary's  had 
set  everybody  laughing  and  the  conversational  ball 
rolling  for  the  moment,  that  he  had  never  been  so  un- 
comfortable in  his  life.  His  knees  hurt  from  the  po- 
sition he  had  put  them  into.  The  seat  was  none  too 
comfortable,  and  his  stiffness  of  posture  made  it  worse. 
To  try  to  appear  at  his  ease,  he  took  off  his  hat  and 
held  it  carelessly  on  his  lap,  but  he  found  his  fingers 
involuntarily  fumbling  at  the  brim.  He  clutched  it 
tightly  to  put  a  stop  to  this  nervous  movement. 

Mrs.  Lombard  at  length  tried  to  persuade  him  in 
her  gentle  way  to  talk  about  Chicago.  She  always 
went  up  for  a  week  or  two  each  winter  for  the  the- 
aters. She  wanted  to  go  to  New  York  for  grand 
opera  next  year.  She  liked  Chicago  very  much,  but 
there  were  advantages  to  be  had  in  the  way  of  music 
in  the  eastern  city.  She  also  wondered  if  Hewitt  re- 
membered the  first  picture  to  the  right  of  the  entrance 
of  the  Art  Institute  in  an  exhibition  of  the  previous 
summer.  The  son  of  her  cousin  had  painted  it.  He 
was  doing  very  well  at  illustration  work  in  New  York 
now. 

Between  her  remarks  he  followed  the  conversation 
Mrs.  Hawtrey  and  Katherine  Miller  were  having  about 
the  country  club. 


202  CASTE  THREE 

"  Were  you  at  the  charity  ball  last  week  ?  "  Kath- 
erine  called  to  Mary  at  length. 

"  No.     I  went  up  to  Marion  for  a  dance." 

"  I  thought  I  did  n't  see  you." 

And  then  they  went  back  to  the  country  club. 

Hewitt's  efforts  at  following  up  Mrs.  Lombard's 
leads  were  failures.  It  ended  in  her  doing  all  the 
talking,  until  Mrs.  Hawtrey  came  to  her  rescue  and 
wanted  to  discuss  Maude  Adams's  new  play. 

"  Not  nearly  as  sweet  as  her  other  ones  were.  I 
was  disappointed.  We  went  clear  to  Chicago  to  see 
her,  made  the  trip  purposely  for  that.  It  was  very 
disappointing." 

"  I  thought  it  the  most  charming  one  Barrie  had 
done  for  her." 

"  Have  you  read  Galsworthy's  new  novel?  "  Hewitt 
asked  Katherine  Miller,  not  because  he  had  any  desire 
to  know,  but  because  he  felt  it  his  duty,  as  a  guest  in 
the  Hawtrey  car,  to  speak  to  her  about  something. 

"No;  I  never  read  Galsworthy."  Her  tone  was 
sharp  —  sharper,  no  doubt,  than  she  meant  to  make  it, 
or  else  Hewitt  was  more  ready  to  be  abashed.  At  any 
rate,  he  flushed  up  and  remained  silent  until  they 
pulled  up  into  a  village  ten  miles  out,  where  they 
stopped  while  Bob  Hawtrey  bought  boxes  of  candy 
in  a  confectionery  store. 

By  the  time  they  were  back  again  in  Alston  Hewitt 
had  grown  to  feel  almost  chummy  with  the  terrible  tor- 
ture that  assailed  him  since  starting.  He  could  not 
tell  why  he  should  be  so  tortured.  He  was  not  awe- 


CASTE  THREE  203 

stricken  by  Mary's  friends,  but  he  was  very  sure  that 
the  evening  had  been  spoiled  for  him. 

He  climbed  stiffly  out  when  they  drew  up  in  front 
of  the  Trimble  house  again.  He  performed  the  es- 
sential courtesies  of  leave-taking  with  painful  self- 
consciousness. 

"  Good-night,  everybody ! "  Mary  called,  patting 
Mrs.  Hawtrey's  hand  and  waving  to  the  others.  "  It 
was  sweet  of  you  to  take  us.  Wasn't  it  a  lovely 
ride?"  she  turned  to  Hewitt  as  they  went  up  the 
walk. 

"  I  must  run  home,"  he  said  joylessly. 

"  Must  you  —  right  away  ?  "  She  looked  at  him 
with  her  eyes  half-closed,  as  she  always  did  when  she 
wanted  to  impress  him. 

He  turned  half-away. 

"Aren't  you  even  going  to  say  good-night?"  she 
said  appealingly. 

He  took  hold  of  her  hand  and  drew  it  to  his  lips. 
It  was  cool  and  soft. 

"  Good-night,"  he  said  softly,  without  looking  at 
her.  He  trembled  as  he  moved  from  her  down  the 
walk,  and  he  knew  that  she  was  regarding  him  with 
a  strange,  soft  smile. 

Mary  did  not  immediately  turn  to  enter  the  house. 

What  was  she  thinking? 


CHAPTER  XII 

are  three  separate  castes  in  Alston," 
Hewitt  decided  the  next  morning,  as  he  sat  on 
the  edge  of  his  bed  drawing  on  his  old  shoes.  "  There 
are  the  workers,  toilers,  who  don't  count  with  the 
others.  There  are  the  respectable,  public-spirited,  good 
people,  who  run  the  churches  and  obey  the  social  laws 
and  have  some  ideals  which  they  cling  to  stubbornly 
—  also  an  enormous  number  of  prejudices.  And  there 
are  the  society  devotees,  who  set  the  pace  and  attempt 
to  distinguish  themselves  from  the  lower  and  harder 
strata  by  following  out  an  order  of  procedure  radically 
expensive  and  wasteful,  impossible  of  correct  imita- 
tion by  the  masses." 

At  breakfast,  while  Grace  talked  to  his  father  about 
housecleaning, —  a  terrible  ordeal  just  over, —  Hewitt 
went  on  with  his  thoughts  about  Alston  castes.  He 
was  not  sure  that  the  Hawtreys  and  the  Lombards 
belonged  to  the  smartest  society,  but  he  had  of  late 
been  observing  others  who  did  belong.  In  fact,  most 
of  Mary's  associates  belonged.  Mrs.  Smith  belonged 
decidedly,  with  Mr.  Smith  as  a  kind  of  unwilling  but 
accommodating  hanger-on.  Alston  society  —  and  in 
pursuing  the  subject  further  Hewitt  decided  that 
society  in  all  cities  of  similar  size  throughout  the 

204 


CASTE  THREE  205 

United  States  was  founded  primarily  on  the  same  prin- 
ciples—  was  founded  on  wealth.  Not  that  many 
people  had  accumulated  the  large  sums  understood 
as  wealth  in  other  sections  of  the  world,  but  they  had 
money  sufficient  to  insure  a  lavish  expenditure  when 
the  ideals  of  caste  three  assumed  lavish  expenditure 
necessary. 

Wealth  was  not  the  only  requirement  for  caste  three, 
by  any  means,  though  many  people  thought  it  was. 
You  had  to  have  other  things  —  leisure,  unused 
energy,  information  about  certain  forms  and  ways  of 
acting,  the  key  to  the  code,  and  certainly  the  desire 
to  do  the  same  things  that  others  wanted  to  do. 
First  of  all,  however,  you  must  have  enough  money 
to  be  able  to  forget  money,  at  least,  publicly.  Poverty 
was  too  concerned  with  obtaining  the  necessities  of  life 
to  take  part  in  the  pleasure  of  caste  three.  Culture, 
in  the  broad  sense,  you  did  not  have  to  have,  although 
if  you  did  possess  a  wide  information  about  the  arts, 
you  acquired  prestige  thereby.  But  without  money 
you  were  still  only  a  hanger-on;  you  were  not  an 
integral  part  of  the  caste. 

Hewitt  remembered  that  Wilde  said  in  one  of  his 
plays  that  the  requirements  for  society  were  your 
ability  to  amuse,  shock,  or  dine  people.  The  third 
class,  Hewitt  recognized,  formed  this  necessary  basis 
of  wealth.  They  furnished  the  money  and  the  hospi- 
tality. Clever  people  amused  these  others,  and  so  paid 
their  way,  although  with  the  exception  of  Mary,  whom 
he  gave  credit  for  being  extraordinarily  clever  not 


206  CASTE  THREE 

only  in  what  she  said,  for  that  sometimes  would  not 
have  stood  the  test,  but  in  her  adroit  handling  of 
people,  he  had  found  no  one  in  Alston  to  whom  he 
would  give  credit  for  cleverness.  There  seemed  to  be 
no  place  for  it  here.  He  inferred  that  all  those  who 
showed  signs  of  embryonic  cleverness  either  turned 
their  wits  to  being  like  other  people  or  went  to  the 
larger  cities.  Cleverness  suggested  an  aloofness,  when 
he  considered  that  in  itself,  a  solitariness  of  spirit. 
Hewitt,  being  at  the  age  which  places  that  mental  and 
verbal  skill  which  we  call  cleverness  on  a  high  plane 
and  worthy  of  the  highest  praise,  put  down  a  black 
mark  against  the  town  of  his  residence. 

As  for  shocking  your  way  into  Alston  society, 
Hewitt  did  n't  believe  it  could  be  done.  You  must 
be  different  from  caste  one  and  from  caste  two,  the 
working  class  and  the  "  good  "  class,  but  you  must 
be  exactly  like  caste  three.  If  caste  three  believed 
that  playing  gaily  like  children,  but  with  added  sub- 
tleties, was  the  thing,  you  must  not  be  poised  and 
quiet.  Shocking  your  way  into  caste  three,  as  very 
estimable,  clever  people  like  Wilde  might  shock  their 
way  into  London  or  New  York  society,  he  did  not 
believe  could  be  done  in  Alston.  Alstonians  were  too 
cautious,  too  near  to  caste  two,  to  make  that  a  work- 
able scheme.  They  liked  the  different  only  in  a  very 
mild  form,  and  that  after  it  had  been  vouched  for  by 
caste  three  in  New  York  or  other  portions  of  the  East; 
they  could  not  be  sure  otherwise  that  it  was  the  cor- 
rect kind  of  differentness. 


CASTE  THREE  207 

Above  all,  then,  caste  three,  in  Alston,  Indiana,  was 
not  original  in  its  demands.  It  was  imitative,  but 
not  of  caste  two,  as  caste  two  might  be  of  it. 

Having  thus  disposed  of  the  organization  of 
Alston  in  a  pseudo-sociological  manner,  Hewitt  turned 
his  attention  to  his  own  actions  of  the  night  before. 
Why  had  he  sat  stiff  and  pained,  even  though  his 
companions,  at  least  the  older  women,  had  tried  to 
draw  him  out?  Why,  in  short,  had  he  been  such  a 
speechless  ass?  He  knew  all  the  words  he  should 
have  spoken.  He  had  a  belief  that  Mrs.  Lombard 
and  Mrs.  Hawtrey,  and  Katherine  Miller,  too,  would 
have  been  interested  in  his  penchant  for  the  intel- 
lectual, if  he  could  have  spoken  at  his  ease.  They 
would  have  been  responsive  to  his  advances  and  ad- 
miring of  his  acuteness,  he  felt  sure  —  the  next  morn- 
ing. He  who  so  wanted  to  be  important  had  passed  up 
the  best  opportunity  he  had  ever  had  to  impress  the 
"  best  people."  He  was  inwardly  furious  with  him- 
self and  was  sharp  with  his  grandfather  about  passing 
the  eggs  —  fried  eggs,  golden-centered  and  crisp 
around  the  edges,  swathed  in  brown  bacon. 

In  retrospect  he  knew  not  only  what  he  should  have 
said,  but  the  exact  manner  of  saying  it.  He  should 
have  been  careless  and  blithe.  Then  they  would  have 
liked  him,  though  intuitively  he  understood  that  im- 
pressing the  best  families  was  better  than  having  them 
like  you.  It  was  prestige  of  one  kind  or  another  that 
every  one  wanted. 

Hewitt  realized  that  whether  or  no  Alston  knew 


208  CASTE  THREE 

much  about  books  and  what  they  stood  for,  Mary 
Young's  vouching  for  him  as  an  intellectual  had  its 
force.  They  seemed  —  all  of  caste  three  in  Alston 
—  to  put  so  much  confidence  in  Mary  Young's  valua- 
tions. In  thinking  back  over  the  one  remark  Mary 
had  made  about  and  half  to  him  when  they  were  rid- 
ing, he  wondered  if  she  had  made  it  with  the  inten- 
tion of  justifying  herself  to  them.  Should  they  have 
been  wondering  why  Mary  chose  to  have  an  engage- 
ment with  a  boy  who  was  only  a  clerk  in  Smith's 
book-store,  that  would  have  explained  it.  His 
brilliancy  changed  the  aspect  of  her  seeming  lack  of 
discrimination  in  the  selection  of  men  with  whom  she 
might  have  engagements. 

Above  all,  caste  three  valued  exclusiveness.  To  be 
really  worthy  of  note  in  caste  three,  or  for  that  matter 
in  any  community,  you  must  do  something  better  than 
those  around  you.  In  Alston  the  best  way  to  surely 
distinguish  yourself  was  by  your  ability  to  make 
money,  but  there  were  other  methods. 

So  mused  Hewitt  on  his  way  to  work,  appraising 
and  misappraising  in  the  manner  of  the  thinker. 

An  automobile,  driven  by  an  old  man  whom  he  knew 
to  be  the  president  of  a  company  manufacturing  a  de- 
vice for  regulating  the  flow  of  gas  in  stoves,  passed 
him.  People  spoke  of  this  man  with  admiration. 
"  He  began  without  a  cent,"  they  would  say,  "  and 
look  at  him  now !  "  This  man  did  not  belong  to  caste 
three,  however. 

Farther   along   on   Jackson   Street   Hewitt   passed 


CASTE  THREE  209 

Judge  McCullough  walking  to  his  law-office, —  slowly, 
as  though  he  were  no  longer  robust  enough  to  carry 
on  his  business.  Alstonians  were  staunch  admirers  of 
the  judge.  He  had  been  on  the  Public  Service  Com- 
mission of  the  state.  He  was  a  good  man,  stern,  but 
kind. 

But  caste  three  was  not  concerned  with  the  judge 
or  with  the  president  of  the  Gas  Regulator  Company. 
Why?  Because  one  must  desire  admittance  to  caste 
three,  and  then,  if  one's  credentials  were  good,  one 
was  taken  in. 

Caste  three  was  playing  a  game,  a  big  game  and 
very  important  to  millions  of  people  in  the  world  — 
to  people  who  belonged  and  to  those  who  did  not. 
You  had  to  have  leisure  and  a  desire  to  play.  You 
had  to  pay  to  enter,  and  continue  to  pay  after  you  were 
in.  You  had  to  play  well,  up  to  a  standard.  And 
much  of  your  delight  in  it  must  be  your  feeling  that 
a  great  many  other  people  who  wanted  to  be  were  n't 
in  the  game.  Your  exclusiveness  gave  you  a  thrill. 
The  difficulty  of  attainment  also  enhanced  the  value 
of  your  being  a  player  at  all.  You  were  careful  not 
to  lightly  throw  away  your  privilege  of  playing  with 
the  best  people  —  a  rare  privilege.  That  would  make 
Mary  Young  careful  not  to  take  up  with  anyone  who 
would  be  unworthy  of  caste  three.  Which  made 
Hewitt  appear  to  be  not  so  ineligible. 

Consequently,  despite  his  torture  of  the  night  before 
and  of  this  morning  when  the  defects  of  his  previous 
action  became  vividly  unsatisfactory  to  him,  and  his 


210  CASTE  THREE 

subsequent  readiness  to  place  himself  against  his  will 
in  caste  one  with  the  mere  workers  who  did  not  count, 
before  he  had  been  at  work  in  the  book-store  an  hour, 
surrounded  by  the  comforting  usual,  Hewitt  began 
to  display  signs  of  that  distending  of  the  shirt  across 
his  chest  which  he  had  shown  previously.  Had  he  not 
parleyed  with  caste  three?  Turbulent,  uneasy  he  had 
been,  yet  he  had  parleyed. 

Indeed,  gradually  during  the  day  Hewitt  forgot  how 
perturbed  he  had  been  while  a  guest  in  the  Hawtrey 
automobile.  He  was  able  to  be  haughty  when  Ernest- 
ine came  in  during  the  afternoon  to  ask  him,  in  the 
absence  of  her  father,  to  tie  up  a  package  of  books  she 
was  sending  to  Susannah  Conners  in  New  York. 
She  was  so  entirely  nice  to  him  after  this  favor  that 
he  wondered  if  she  knew  that  Mary  Young  had  al- 
lowed him  to  have  an  engagement  with  her.  The 
knowledge  of  the  truth,  that  she  did  not  know,  would 
have  added  another  inch  to  his  shirt  distention.  Did 
he  not  understand  caste  three  ?  Which  was  more  than 
caste  three  did. 

Ernestine  stood  talking  to  Hewitt  for  a  few  minutes 
about  her  car.  It  had  been  taken  to  Indianapolis  for 
repairs,  and  she  was  getting  impatient  over  the  de- 
lay. 

"  I  'm  helpless  without  it,"  she  said.  "  I  hate  gaso- 
line cars,  don't  you?  " 

Hewitt  had  no  preference  about  automobiles.  He 
had  never  thought  much  about  the  merits  of  the  various 
kinds,  but  under  the  stimulation  of  her  question  he 


CASTE  THREE  211 

decided  rapidly,  with  great  wisdom,  no  doubt,  that 
each  kind  had  its  good  points. 

In  leaving,  Ernestine  smiled  a  good-bye  to  him. 

There  is  an  advantage  in  knowing  a  snob,  young 
or  old,  or  in  thinking  some  one  is  a  snob.  One  is  so 
set  up  when  the  snob  condescends  to  waste  his  or  her 
sweetness  on  one's  own  desert  air,  even  though  one  is 
contemptuous  of  the  snob's  original  premise  that  snob- 
bery is  not  despicable.  That  is,  perhaps,  the  secret  of 
the  fascination  snobs  often  have  for  other  very  un- 
snobbish  people.  One  acquires  the  benefits  of  exclu- 
siveness  without  making  an  effort, —  democracy  being 
one's  hobby  —  to  procure  it. 

Among  other  important  conclusions,  exhilarated  by 
his  recent  experiences  and  the  contemplation  of  them 
into  drawing  conclusions,  Hewitt  underlined  and 
pigeon-holed  one  for  future  use,  providing  he  kept 
his  head  enough  to  use  it:  One  is  just  as  impressive 
as  one  thinks  oneself,  granting,  of  course,  that  one 
has  any  kind  of  a  mind  to  begin  with.  Hewitt's  mind 
was  all  right,  he  admitted.  Then  all  he  had  to  do 
was  to  consider  himself  impressive  and  he  would  be. 
It  was  very  simple. 

He  devoted  various  odd  moments,  which  ordinarily 
he  would  have  spent  in  reading,  in  examining  himself. 
During  the  process  he  lost  a  part  of  the  cherished  shirt 
distention  aroused  by  Ernestine's  notice  of  him.  He 
found  that  he  was  not  a  pleasant  subject  for  minute 
examination.  In  the  first  place,  he  was  helpless,  he 
decided.  He  thought  about  action,  but  he  was  in- 


212  CASTE  THREE 

capable  of  acting  to  any  greater  advantage  because  of 
his  thought.  Thinking  was  the  end  of  his  existence, 
instead  of  a  means  to  acuter  existence.  He  wondered. 
He  must  be  lacking  in  that  vital  necessity  called  back- 
bone, he  decided.  He  grew  quite  angry  about  his  lack 
of  back-bone. 

Then,  too,  Hewitt  had  no  confidence  in  himself  out- 
side the  intellectual  relation.  "  I  am  not,"  he  was  in 
the  habit  of  saying,  and  of  being  proud  of  saying, 
"  I  am  not  a  social  person.  I  am  a  thinking  person,  a 
hermit.  I  reject  the  world  of  things  for  the  world 
of  ideas.  So-ho!  "  He  was  so  in  the  habit  of  saying 
this  to  himself  that  he  had  begun  to  believe  it. 

People  were  becoming  very  interesting  to  Hewitt. 
Even  Ernestine  was  becoming  interesting.  He  would 
have  liked  to  educate  Ernestine.  She  must  have  a 
good  mind  by  inheritance  —  if  she  had  been  fortunate 
enough  to  have  inherited  her  father's  mind,  which 
Hewitt  would  have  denied  hotly  before  this  —  but  a 
mind  which  had  been  ruined  by  something  which  Mrs. 
Smith  believed  to  be  education.  She  had  selected  the 
institution  for  Ernestine's  advanced  one  year's  educa- 
tion. 

At  this  point  Hewitt  abandoned  himself  and  Ernest- 
ine and  Mrs.  Smith's  educational  mistakes  and  caste 
three.  Some  new  books  had  come  by  express,  and 
in  unpacking  them  rather  feverishly  he  found  a  book 
on  Russia  that  he  had  been  coveting.  He  had,  in- 
deed, been  instrumental  in  getting  it.  It  was  his 


CASTE  THREE  213 

theory,  recently  developed  and  enthusiastically  and 
endlessly  propagated,  that  the  manager  of  a  book-store 
in  a  city  like  Alston  —  he  always  called  it  a  city  to 
Mr.  Smith,  which  shows  how  he  was  developing  a 
line  of  attack  not  needed  in  Chicago,  but  very  neces- 
sary in  Alston,  a  line  commonly  called  "  tact  " —  had 
immeasurable  opportunities  for  educating  his  public. 
Mr.  Smith  had  never  felt  that  the  public  needed 
educating ;  he  had  been  satisfied  to  sell  them  what  they 
thought  they  wanted. 

Acting  on  this  theory,  Hewitt  approached  Mr.  Smith 
one  day  with  the  suggestion  that  the  fifty-cent  edi- 
tions of  the  popular  novels  be  moved  back. 

"  People  are  sure  to  buy  them,  anyway,"  he  de- 
clared. "  There  is  already  a  demand  for  them.  And 
then  on  those  first  two  tables  let 's  make  displays." 

"  What  sort  of  displays  ?  "  Mr.  Smith  asked,  puz- 
zled. He  was  not  combative,  only  not  sure  of  Hew- 
itt's idea. 

"  Well,  displays  of  some  good  books." 

"Classics?"  " 

"  We  might  have  those,"  Hewitt  answered  deliber- 
ately. He  did  not  want  his  employer  to  think  he  was 
too  anxious  for  this  change.  Mr.  Smith  was  capable 
of  being  prejudiced  against  the  move,  often  accepting 
the  new  with  no  avidity. 

"If  not  classics,  then  what?  "  Mr.  Smith  demanded. 

"  My  idea  was  to  make  a  display  of  new  books  — 
serious  ones,  not  novels." 


214  CASTE  THREE 

"  We  have  n't  enough  and  there 's  no  call  for  them." 

"  Order  some,  and  we  '11  have  other  orders  from 
those." 

That  said,  Hewitt  went  about  his  work.  There 
was  no  use  in  appearing  to  be  intent  on  change. 
Mr.  Smith  required  time  to  digest  suggestions.  One 
must  n't  push. 

In  a  few  days,  four  or  five  at  the  most,  Mr.  Smith 
came  back  to  his  desk  with  his  eyebrows  very 
prominent. 

"  What  books  do  you  want  to  order  for  that  first 
table?  "  he  growled,  not  paying  the  least  attention  to 
his  clerk,  who  was,  as  far  as  he  was  concerned  in  his 
present  mood,  mere  furniture.  At  least,  he  must  not 
think  he  was  anything  else. 

"  I  '11  have  to  make  a  list  from  the  reviews,"  Hewitt 
said,  with  no  joy  discernible.  "  And  say,  Mr.  Smith, 
I  don't  believe  it  would  be  a  bad  idea  to  send  out  some 
little  booklets  painted  up  a  little,  you  know,  and  attrac- 
tive, to  people  around  town  who  might  take  an  interest 
in  such  books  and  tell  them  that  you  have  a  stock  of 
new  ones.  Tell  them  you  'd  like  them  to  come  in  and 
look  them  with  their  discriminating  eyes."  He  was 
positively  humble  about  this  suggestion. 

Mr.  Smith's  eyebrows  became  even  more  prominent. 

"  You  attend  to  the  whole  business  yourself,  and  if 
we  lose  money,  I  '11  fire  you  for  thinking  of  it." 

That  was  why  a  new  book  on  Russia  was  in  the  box 
Hewitt  was  unpacking. 

The  same  night,  however,  after  he  had  lingered  in 


CASTE  THREE  215 

Russia  until  long  after  closing  time,  Hewitt  took  up 
again  the  unpleasant  task  of  examining  himself. 
Mar}-  Young  was  his  reason  for  resuming  it.  As  he 
came  out  of  the  post-office  on  his  way  home,  he  saw 
Mary  coming  down  Twelfth  Street  with  a  man  whom 
Hewitt  had  not  seen  before,  but  whom  he  guessed 
to  be  Tom  Brandon.  Joe  Bales  had  always  talked  a 
great  deal  about  Tom.  Joe  admired  him.  Tom's 
father  had  made  a  lot  of  money,  so  Joe  said,  on  a 
wheel  for  freight-cars.  There  was  something  queer 
about  the  wheel,  Joe  thought,  which  made  it  safer 
than  other  wheels.  Brandon  senior  had  started  to 
manufacture  it,  but  later  had  sold  out  to  a  trust  at  an 
immense  figure.  His  son  was  spending  his  income 
and  more,  people  said.  Tom  had  a  reputation  for 
drinking  and  doing  other  reprehensible  things,  but 
although  he  was  the  butt  of  much  criticism,  which  he 
seldom  heard  and  never  minded,  from  caste  two,  he 
was  defended  and  petted  by  caste  three.  "  He  's  a 
peach !  "  was  Joe's  way  of  putting  it.  Joe  was  not 
exactly  vital  to  caste  three,  since  he  would  not  have 
enough  money  to  make  him  that  until  his  grandmother 
died.  But  he  had  caste  three's  point  of  view.  Tom 
Brandon  was  the  pet  of  the  caste,  the  kind  it  wanted 
to  defend  and  protect,  even  while  it  did  n't  want  its 
daughters  to  marry  him. 

As  the  couple  approached  Hewitt,  he  saw  a  tall, 
dark-haired,  red-faced  young  man  of  thirty  or  more, 
slim  and  trim,  handsome  despite  his  dissipation. 
Mary  Young  was  talking  vivaciously  to  him,  and  he 


216  CASTE  THREE 

was  so  interested  and  amused  that  he  burst  into  a  laugh 
that  deepened  into  a  roar  as  Hewitt  walked  down  the 
post-office  steps. 

Mary  did  not  see  Hewitt.  She  was  too  much  en- 
grossed with  Tom  Brandon. 

Hewitt's  heart  behaved  in  a  way  it  had  taken  to 
behaving  when  he  saw  Mary.  It  tumbled  over  itself 
two  or  three  times,  made  a  wild  slide  for  his  throat, 
and  ended  by  beating  hard  and  furiously  in  its  proper 
place.  Afterward  he  grew  weak  in  the  knees.  His 
heart  had  acted  in  this  way  enough  times  for  him 
to  become  accustomed  to  it,  but  he  was  nevertheless 
always  freshly  surprised  and  was  no  more  able  than 
before  to  stop  his  breathless  weakness. 

The  reason  this  encounter  led  to  further  self-exami- 
nation was  that  Mary  was  so  vastly  more  interested 
in  Tom  Brandon  than  she  had  been  in  Hewitt  the 
evening  before.  If  her  vivacity  with  Tom  was  the 
normal  gage  of  her  social  self,  she  had  been  un- 
obtrusively bored  with  Hewitt  the  evening  before. 

He  gasped.  Bored  with  him,  Hewitt  Stevenson! 
Any  breath  he  had  retained  after  catching  sight  of  her 
vanished.  But  it  was  not  only  wounded  pride  which 
spoke  in  him.  He  was  hurt  far  down  in  the  sacred 
places  of  his  heart.  She  was  not,  after  all,  so  very 
interested  in  him,  a  twenty-one-year-old  clerk  in 
Smith's  book-store.  Why  should  she  be?  What  did 
he  —  the  son  of  a  retired  farmer  who  would  n't  invest 
his  money  and  whose  sole  reading  was  farm  journals 
—  v/hat  did  he  have  that  Mary  Young  should  want  ? 


CASTE  THREE  217 

She  could  so  easily  get  admiration  and  attention  from 
other,  more  congenial  sources.  What  did  he,  the  her- 
mit who  lived  in  books,  have  in  common  with  Mary 
Young? 

Hewitt  writhed  uncomfortably  inside.  There  was 
no  distention  of  his  shirt  now.  He  was  "  poi-g- 
nantly "  unhappy.  George  Bernard  Shaw  was  re- 
quired to  revive  his  self-respect.  In  company  with 
that  unquestionably  great  iconoclast  he  shouldered 
the  waves  of  ignominy  and  reached  the  crest  of  the 
swell.  He  swam  with  ease  through  Mary's  lack  of 
real  interest  in  him,  through  his  place  in  caste  one  (to 
which  he  returned  whenever  depression  seized  him), 
through  his  unimportance  as  a  citizen  of  Alston, 
Indiana,  into  the  safe  waters  of  superiority  to  all 
trivialities.  He  himself,  as  an  individual  who  was  n't 
getting  all  that  he  wanted,  receded  into  the  distance. 
His  mind  belonged  to  G.  B.  S.,  the  king  of  publicists 
and  modern  dramatic  artists,  who  shocked  caste  two 
of  the  world,  amused  scholars,  made  converts  of  youth, 
and  disgruntled  age. 

Hewitt's  hurt  sacred  places  sucked  new  life  out  of 
a  preface,  and  fiercely  he  determined  not  to  be  the 
plaything  of  his  feelings.  He  was  far,  far  above 
Alston  and  all  its  citizens,  a  star  gazing  down  on  a 
badly  made  earth  inhabited  by  silly,  money-mad, — 
Tom  Brandon's  money  probably  did  make  a  difference 
to  Mary  —  trivial  animals  called  men  engaged  in  love 
and  war  and  business,  alternately  liking  and  hating, 
the  slaves  of  forces  which  they  were  too  ignorant  to 


218  CASTE  THREE 

control,  the  fools  of  forms  they  had  made  them- 
selves. 

The  next  day,  when  Ernestine  brought  Mary  into 
the  store  to  get  a  book  she  wanted,  Hewitt  was  very 
dignified  and  distant.  He  was  pleasant,  but  firmly  the 
master  of  his  feelings.  His  heart  only  tumbled  once, 
instead  of  the  customary  three  times,  and  he  braced 
his  knees,  so  that  he  never  knew  whether  they  would 
have  wobbled,  because  he  did  n't  give  them  the 
opportunity  to  perform  thus  ignobly. 

Mary  was  surprised  when  she  noticed  this  calm 
coldness.  She  left  Ernestine  to  get  the  book  and  came 
over  to  him. 

"  I  'm  reading  to-day,"  she  said  to  Hewitt,  leaning 
close  to  where  he  stood  hard  against  the  case.  She 
meant  him  to  know,  he  understood,  that,  stimulated 
by  his  talk  of  the  night  before,  she  was  reading  more 
serious  literature  than  magazine  stories,  despite  its 
being  summer.  She  wanted  to  be  praised  for  it,  too. 

Hewitt  did  not  praise  her.  He  smiled,  but  she 
knew,  as  anyone  would  have  known,  that  the  smile 
was  frigid. 

"  I  'm  going  to  read  Henry  James,"  she  said,  not 
daunted  by  the  North  Pole  temperature.  Mary  was 
never  daunted  by  frigidity.  This  made  her  always 
the  mistress  of  any  situation  where  that  was  counted 
as  a  factor. 

"  He 's  very  difficult  at  times,"  Hewitt  replied. 
"  Mr.  Woody,  a  man  in  Chicago,  always  said  so. 
I  've  never  read  anything  by  him." 


CASTE  THREE  219 

"Don't  you  think  you  would  like  him?"  she  said, 
with  a  bright  smile  directly  into  his  eyes. 

"  I  have  no  feeling  about  him.  I  Ve  never  read 
anything  by  him." 

"  But  you  know  about  him,"  she  insisted. 

"  I  know  what  Rebecca  Harding  West,  a  bright 
young  novelist,  says  about  his  earlier  style.  She 
speaks  of  the  time  before  he  began  to  wrap  his 
sentences  in  the  '  invalid  shawls  of  relative  clauses.' ' 
Hewitt  could  not  help  being  interested  in  the  brilliancy 
of  that  statement.  It  had  been  one  of  Mr.  Woody's 
favorite  quotations.  So  the  temperature  rose  per- 
ceptibly, and  they  both  laughed.  That  laugh  put  an 
end  to  frigidity. 

"Have  you  seen  our  new  display  of  books?"  he 
asked  with  righteous  pride. 

"  Did  you  select  them?  "  she  asked. 

He  nodded. 

"Did  you  get  the  booklet?" 

"  I  came  to  see  if  they  met  '  the  approval  of  my 
discriminating  eye,'  "  she  said  astutely. 

Hewitt  blushed.  He  was  very  proud  of  the  wording 
of  that  booklet.  He  had  written  it,  selected  the  type 
and  color-scheme  —  in  fact,  he  alone  was  conducting 
the  experiment  with  serious  books.  Mary  regained 
ascendancy  over  his  formerly  injured  feleings  by  select- 
ing a  volume  of  essays  he  recommended,  in  addition 
to  the  Henry  James  that  Ernestine  had  been  having 
Mrs.  Chancellor  buy  for  her. 

"  I  intended  to  come  in  and  buy  a  book  the  minute 


220  CASTE  THREE 

I  saw  the  booklet,"  Mary  said.  "  I  shall  tell  every- 
one I  know  to  come  in  and  buy  a  few  volumes,"  she 
added,  with  that  charming  air  of  intimacy  which  broke 
down  his  last  defense. 

"  Thanks.  Mr.  Smith  says  I  am  responsible  for  the 
success  of  these  sales.  It 's  an  experiment.  I  think 
public  taste  can  be  moulded.' 

"Is  that  the  reason  you  sent  me  a  booklet?"  she 
accused  him. 

"  No,"  he  denied.  "  I  did  it  as  a  personal  remem- 
brance." 

"  You  're  a  dear !  Come,  Ernestine.  You  '11  never 
get  to  your  party  at  this  rate.  Good-bye,  Hewitt." 

She  left  him  in  a  quiver  of  happiness.  She  was 
wonderful,  more  wonderful  than  he  remembered. 
Tom  Brandon  probably  read  dime  novels. 

Hewitt  called  up  Mary  some  time  later  that  week. 
She  was  still  wonderful,  unchanged.  She  told  him 
that  she  was  going  to  be  at  the  Pattons'  for  dinner, 
and  that  he  might,  if  he  chose,  come  for  her  about 
nine. 

Nine  fifteen  found  Hewitt  at  the  door  of  the 
Pattons'  house  on  Eighth  Street.  George  Patton,  the 
editor,  opened  the  door  and  let  him  in.  He  was  a 
large  man  with  a  habit  of  raising  his  eyebrows  until 
they  seemed  about  to  enter  the  domain  of  his  hair, 
and  then  dropping  them  so  quickly  that  you  feared 
they  would  n't  get  to  the  proper  place  for  eyebrows, 
but  would  drop  to  his  pink  cheeks,  which  were  polished 


CASTE  THREE  221 

and  smooth  like  a  baby's.  You  gasped  your  relief 
when  you  found  that  they  did  get  back  safely.  He 
always  carried  a  stick  of  light,  hard  wood  with  a  black 
top,  even  in  the  house.  People  often  judged  him  to 
be  lame  by  reason  of  this  habit.  When  he  sat  down, 
he  leaned  his  two  crossed  hands  on  the  top  of  it  and 
frowned  over  them,  or  lifted  his  eyebrows  again.  He 
had  a  habit  of  grunting  out  short,  abrupt,  witty  phrases 
that  surprised  you,  because  for  some  reason  you  did  n't 
expect  a  person  with  round  cheeks  and  placid  eyes 
to  be  either  abrupt  or  witty. 

Hewitt  had  never  had  any  respect  for  Alston's  news- 
papers. He  never  read  them,  in  fact.  He  culled  news 
from  the  Chicago  papers.  They  were  more  satis- 
factory. But  after  seeing  Mr.  Patton,  he  grew  in- 
terested. A  man  with  those  eyebrows  might  some  day 
unexpectedly  say  something  excitedly  satirical,  and 
Hewitt  hoped,  by  reading  thereafter  the  editorial  page 
daily,  though  hurriedly,  not  to  miss  it. 

Hewitt  was  personally  conducted  into  a  long,  large 
room  furnished  in  heavy  upholstered  furniture, 
numerous  lamps  of  various  descriptions,  a  long  row 
of  book-cases,  a  massive  table,  and  other  articles  he 
had  n't  time  to  take  in.  Mary  Young  was  seated  in 
a  low,  deep  davenport  near  the  fireplace  and  backed 
by  the  massive  table.  She  smiled  at  him. 

"  You  remember  Mrs.  Patton,  don't  you?  And  you 
remember  Hewitt  Stevenson,  Mildred?  In  a  moment 
he  will  be  telling  you,  George,  just  where  your  political 


222  CASTE  THREE 

reasoning  is  wrong.  He's  dreadful!  He  has  no  re- 
spect for  the  gray  hairs  of  wisdom,  absolutely  none." 

Mr.  Patton  raised  his  eyebrows  at  Hewitt. 

"  Thank  heaven,  then,  that  I  have  no  gray  hairs  of 
wisdom!  "  he  said  with  an  effect  of  having  been  very 
abrupt,  not  with  Mary,  but  with  Hewitt. 

"  Sit  down,  Hewitt.     I  '11  be  ready  presently." 

With  that,  Mary  turned  to  continue  her  conversa- 
tion with  Mrs.  Patton.  She  was  defending  some  one 
to  her. 

This  left  Hewitt  to  the  mercies  of  the  editor,  who 
was  using  his  eyebrows  again,  this  time  upon  a  woolly, 
roly-poly  curly  dog  lying  deep  in  the  rug  before  the 
fireplace,  as  though  there  were  a  fire,  and  appearing 
to  warm  himself. 

"  Woosy-doosy  warmin'  himself?  Nice  ole  woosy- 
doosy !  Told,  is  n't  it,  for  nice  'ittle  dogs  what  like 
fires  ?  "  Mr.  Patton  was  saying,  as  he  knelt  down  with 
some  difficulty,  dropping  his  stick  in  doing  so,  and 
smoothed  the  rough  curls  of  the  dog. 

Hewitt  had  never  liked  any  dog  since  he  had  owned 
one  on  the  farm  in  his  far-distant  childhood.  He  had 
always  been  convinced  that  everybody's  viewpoint 
with  regard  to  dogs  was  the  same  as  everybody's  with 
regard  to  babies.  You  liked  your  own  very,  very 
much ;  you  did  n't  like  anybody  else's.  Nevertheless 
you  pretended  to.  Now  he  stooped  down  and  petted 
the  dog,  because  it  seemed  the  polite  thing  to  assume 
some  interest  in  the  animal  of  the  man  in  whose  house 
you  were  spending  a  little  time  while  waiting  for  Mary 


CASTE  THREE  223 

Young  to  get  ready  to  depart.  Mr.  Patton  regained 
his  feet,  equilibrium,  and  eyebrow  movement  simul- 
taneously. The  cur,  imported  from  some  remote 
place  where  dogs  are  supposedly  smaller  and  more 
beautiful  than  in  America,  and  so  not  really  a  cur  at 
all,  snapped  at  Hewitt. 

Why  Mary  did  n't  pay  more  attention  to  him  became 
more  puzzling.  Was  it  customary  in  caste  three  —  the 
Fattens  undeniably  belonged  to  caste  three ;  they  were, 
indeed,  the  hub  about  which  the  caste  had  its  being 
—  to  leave  a  man  whom  you  had  induced  to  enter  a 
house  as  your  escort  to  the  mercies  of  a  host  with  a 
sharp  manner  and  a  dog?  Never  able  to  get  away 
from  the  helplessness  which  assailed  him  whenever  he 
found  himself  away  from  his  books  and  the  customary, 
Hewitt  found  himself  getting  into  exactly  the  same 
condition  he  had  blamed  himself  for  being  in  on  the 
night  that  the  Hawtreys  had  taken  them  riding.  He 
now  grew  angry  with  himself,  but  that  did  not 
eliminate  his  stiff  weakness  or  his  dumbness. 

He  called  himself  names,  unpleasant  names.  He 
gritted  his  teeth  and  tried  to  think  of  something  be- 
sides himself.  Were  all  people  like  this  in  a  new 
situation?  Or  was  the  system  of  action  peculiar  to 
him?  Was  he  temperamentally  bashful,  or  was  he 
merely  afraid  of  not  acting  up  to  his  ideal  of  him- 
self? 

He  wasn't  afraid  of  the  Fattens.  Far  from  it. 
He  could  meet  Mr.  Patton,  editor  of  the  Alston  morn- 
ing paper,  on  his  own  ground,  the  subject  being  se- 


224  CASTE  THREE 

lected  at  random,  and  come  off  victor  in  an  argument. 
He  was  certain  that  Mrs.  Patton,  member  of  clubs  and 
president  of  the  Woman's  Council,  was  nevertheless 
not  his  equal  in  mind.  He  did  not  overrate  his  mind 
when  he  said  that.  He  knew  this  for  a  fact.  He 
would  have  bet  his  two  hundred  and  more  dollars  on 
either  one  of  the  propositions,  the  matter  to  be  judged 
by  reliable  witnesses  with  a  reputation  for  brains. 
He  was  willing  to  call  Mary  an  intellectual,  and  to 
educate  her,  but  these  others  could  not  shake  his  con- 
viction that  he  was  a  superior  soul  to  them. 

But  he  couldn't  talk  to  Mr.  Patton.  He  tried. 
He  said  that  they  were  having  an  early  spring,  and 
Mr.  Patton  was  at  the  same  time  abrupt  and  lengthy 
on  the  subject.  He  tried  to  introduce  politics,  upon 
which  he  was  just  beginning,  because  of  arguments 
with  Mr.  Smith,  to  have  more  and  more  definite 
opinions,  but  his  voice  sounded  weak  and  faint,  and  he 
did  not  much  blame  Mr.  Patton  for  not  following  up 
a  lead  from  a  youth  who  showed  himself  so  unauthori- 
tative. 

When  Mary  at  last  arose  and  expressed  her  inten- 
tion of  going,  Hewitt  sighed  with  relief  from  the 
strain  of  trying  to  appear  intelligent,  when  every 
moment  he  felt  less  intelligent.  He  would  not  have 
bet  his  two  hundred  dollars  when  he  left.  He  stood 
up  straight  and  smiled  a  wan  good-bye  at  Mrs.  Patton, 
and  shook  hands  limply  with  the  editor. 

"  You  must  come  over  some  evening  with  Mary 
and  play  bridge,"  Mrs.  Patton  said  in  her  cordial  way, 


CASTE  THREE 

a  way  that  made  Hewitt  feel  that  she  really  did  want 
him  to  come.  "  Bring  him,  dear,"  she  said  to  Mary. 

Hewitt  thanked  her,  and  did  n't  mention  that  he 
played  only  one  card-game,  poker,  learned  not  because 
he  wanted  to  master  it,  but  because  Paul  had  liked 
once  in  a  while  to  have  friends  in  for  a  game,  and 
Hewitt  had  wanted  to  accommodate  Paul.  He  dis- 
liked playing  cards.  No  religious  scruples,  of  course 
hindered  him,  since  he  had  no  religion.  He  simply 
hated  to  keep  his  mind  glued  on  spots  on  cards,  when 
he  wanted  to  think. 

Out  in  the  crisp  air,  clear  and  cool,  he  felt  decidedly 
better.  He  ran  Mary  down  the  walk  to  the  street, 
grasping  her  arm  and  pushing  her  along.  She  had 
to  stop  at  the  end  to  pant,  and  they  both  shook  with 
laughter.  Running  with  Mary  was  great  sport, 
Hewitt  thought. 

Mary  was  all  for  being  jolly  as  usual,  or  perhaps 
jollier,  as  they  went  on  toward  the  Trimbles.  She 
made  fun  of  Hewitt's  conceit,  a  favorite  subject  for  the 
facetious,  and  of  his  tongue-tied  condition  at  the 
Fattens  (she  had  had  time  in  the  midst  of  her  defense 
of  some  one  to  notice  that,  then),  and  of  his  new 
vanity  about  clothes. 

"  You  've  taken  to  wearing  a  new  tie  every  time  I  see 
you,"  she  said  saucily.  This  was  not  true,  but  he  was 
more  dressy  than  of  old,  when  Letsky  had  made  him 
feel  that  an  undue  attention  to  clothing  was  a  sign 
of  the  sunk-in-the-mud  sort  of  proletarianism.  He 
dressed  for  decoration,  to  please  Mary,  although  Mary 


226  CASTE  THREE 

was  not  supposed  to  know  this,  and  in  all  probability 
did  not  know  it.  "  Some  day  I  shall  pass  you  on  the 
street  and  never  recognize  you  at  all.  I  identify 
young  men  by  their  ties.  I  always  look  at  them,  and 
then  some  afternoon  when  I  see  a  blue  tie  with  orange 
futurist  designs,  I  say  to  myself  '  That  youth  I  danced 
with  at  Ernestine's  open-house  last  night.'  Now  how 
can  I  remember  you,  if  you  wear  such  a  variety?  In 
your  case  I  might  be  able  to  follow  one  change,  but  — " 

"  Perhaps  something  in  my  eyes  would  say  that  I 
knew  you,  and  then  you  would  remember  —  if  you 
could  manage  just  once  to  look  higher  than  my  tie." 

"  If  I  looked  higher  than  your  tie,  you  would  try 
to  entangle  my  eyes  with  your  dreadful  gray  ones, 
would  n't  you  ?  " 

He  was  glad  of  this  evidence  that  she  had  seen  the 
color  of  his  eyes. 

"  I  should  try,"  he  said  in  a  low  tone  and  without 
looking  directly  at  her.  This  remark  was  very  near 
the  venturesome,  and  besides,  he  said  it  with  feeling. 

"Don't  ever!"  she  said  just  as  low,  but  he  under- 
stood, without  seeing  the  twinkle  in  her  eyes. 

A  street  light  on  the  corner  by  the  Presbyterian 
Church  was  sputtering  as  they  passed,  and  with  a  final 
brave  nicker  it  went  out,  leaving  the  street  in  dark- 
ness. All  the  other  street-lights  around  the  city  — 
those  that  before  they  had  been  able  to  see, —  went  out, 
too,  and  the  houses  became  black. 

The  night  was  dark ;  there  were  no  stars  or  moon. 
Hewitt  could  hardly  distinguish  curb  from  street,  and 


CASTE  THREE  227 

in  the  first  opaqueness  which  followed  the  disappear- 
ance of  light  he  put  his  foot  carefully  before  him  to 
find  the  correct  spot  to  step. 

"What  do  you  suppose  is  the  matter?"  wailed 
Mary. 

"  Probably  something  is  broken  at  the  plant.  This 
is  beastly.  Here,  take  hold  of  my  arm!  There! 
Keep  hold.  You  can't  see  your  next  step." 

"  Neither  can  you,"  came  softly  from  Mary.  The 
twinkle  was  still  behind  her  words. 

"  I  can't  see,  but  I  can  judge." 

"Couldn't  I  judge?" 

"  No.  Women  are  too  impulsive.  You  'd  be  fall- 
ing down  in  two  minutes.  You  'd  think  you  were  on 
the  sidewalk  and  find  yourself  in  the  street." 

"But  Hewitt—" 

"Be  careful!" 

"  If  you  won't  be  cross  about  it." 

"  I  did  n't  mean  to  be  cross.     I  'm  worried." 

"What  about?' 

"  About  whether  I  '11  get  you  home  without  breaking 
some  one's  fence." 

"  Is  n't  this  funny,  Hewitt?  " 

"  No." 

"  You  're  cross  again." 

"  Worry.     Now  we  're  all  right!  " 

They  were  on  a  wider  street  now,  with  the  houses 
set  back  and  fewer  trees,  so  that  a  faint  glimmer  from 
the  sky  made  the  sidewalk  discernible  by  peering 
closely.  Mary  sighed  with  relief. 


228  CASTE  THREE 

"  Now  I  suppose  you  will  be  pleasant  again,"  she 
said. 

"  Perhaps.  Why  don't  those  blamed  lights  come 
on?  Of  all  towns  in  the  world  — " 

"Alston's  the  worst?" 

"  It  would  be,  if  it  were  n't  for  — " 

"  For  what  ?  "     She  leaned  forward  toward  him. 

"  For  Mr.  Smith." 

Mary's  twinkle  became  audible.  Then  she  stopped 
suddenly. 

"  There 's  not  a  soul  at  home !  The  Trimbles  have 
gone  to  the  country.  The  maid 's  coming  back  to 
sleep  in  the  house.  I  have  n't  the  slightest  idea  about 
lights!" 

"  We  '11  find  something.  They  surely  have  candles 
some  place." 

"But  if  they  haven't?" 

"  I  '11  have  to  go  down-town  and  scrape  up  a  good 
little  coal-oil  lamp  like  grandmother  used  to  use." 

The  blackness  about  the  Trimble  steps  was  im- 
penetrable. Hewitt  grasped  Mary's  arm  tightly  and 
groped  for  them. 

"  Did  you  swear  then  ?  "  she  asked  with  exaggerated 
innocence,  when  Hewitt  struck  the  step  with  his  shin. 

"  No." 

"I  dare  you!" 

"  Blame  it,  keep  still !  How  can  a  fellow  find  any- 
thing when  you  keep  talking  to  him  and  distracting 
his  attention?"  But  by  the  time  he  finished  this,  he 
had  his  hand  on  the  door. 


CASTE  THREE  229 

"  I  forgot,"  Mary  said  guiltily  at  this  point ;  "  the 
key  's  under  the  first  pillar." 

"The  devil!"  came  the  expected  explosion.  In- 
deed, knowing  Mary,  we  do  not  doubt  that  she  had 
forgotten  the  key's  position  to  achieve  this  very  re- 
sult. 

But  the  explosion  cast  no  additional  light  on  the 
porch-floor  where  Hewitt  was  kneeling,  feeling  about 
for  the  first  pillar.  When  at  last  he  got  the  key  in 
his  fingers,  he  felt  his  way  back  painfully  to  the  door. 

"  I  '11  unlock  it,"  said  Mary,  and  after  fumbling  for 
a  long  time  she  did  succeed  in  opening  it.  "  Now  how 
can  we  find  a  candle,  with  no  light?  "  she  queried,  in 
complaint  against  a  fate  that  put  out  one's  lights. 
She  had  her  hand  on  his  arm  again,  and  Hewitt  took 
hold  of  her  fingers.  How  soft  and  cool  they  were! 
He  never  would  have  thought  it  possible  that  a  woman 
could  have  such  soft  hands. 

Hewitt  was  unable  for  a  while  to  make  any  helpful 
suggestions  concerning  finding  candles  without  a  light, 
owing  to  his  concern  with  tremors  afflicting  his  nervous 
system,  although  these  had  nothing  to  do  with  candles. 
He  was  not  afraid  of  the  dark.  He  was  thinking, 
obsessed  with  thinking,  of  that  "Kiss  me,  Hewitt!" 
heard  many  months  ago  in  the  rear  of  Smith's  store. 

"Where  do  people  keep  candles,  Hewitt?"  asked 
Mary,  unafiflicted  by  tremors. 

Hewitt  took  himself  in  hand. 

"  They  might  have  them  in  the  pantry  or  the  cellar- 
way." 


230  CASTE  THREE 

"  I  'm  sure  they  would  n't." 

A  pause  followed,  during  which  Hewitt's  tremors 
revived. 

"  Don't  you  ever  use  candles  on  the  table?  "  he  asked 
after  a  while. 

"  Oh,  yes ;  at  parties.  We  '11  look  in  the  dining- 
room.  Keep  hold  of  my  hand,  Hewitt," — as  if  he 
had  any  intention  of  letting  go !  — "  and  perhaps  I  can 
get  through  without  killing  either  of  us.  If  I  die, 
dear,  from  striking  the  corner  of  the  stairs  or  a  case- 
ment, you  go  down-town  and  buy  a  candle." 

A  slow  movement  followed  toward  what  might  in 
daylight,  or  under  more  favorable  night  conditions,  be 
the  dining-room.  Mary  bumped  into  a  chair. 

"  Look  here,  let  me  go  first.  I  'm  not  going  to  have 
you  get  hurt  hitting  things." 

"  But  you  don't  know  anything  about  this  house." 

"  I  was  in  it  once." 

"  Yes,  but  you  did  n't  observe  the  exact  position 
of  the  furniture.  Besides,  it  has  probably  been 
changed  since  then.  Martha's  favorite  indoor  sport  is 
changing  the  furniture.  Yesterday  there  was  a  table 
right  where  I  am  now,  but —  Oh,  yes,  here  it  is! 
Oh,  my  elbow !  " 

"Let  me  hold  it,  Mary!" 

"  How  would  that  help  ?  " 

"  I  have  a  soothing  touch." 

"  You  're  hurting  my  hand  now!  " 

11  Oh,  I  'm  sorry!     What  under  the  sun  — ?  " 

"  Did  you  hit  the  table,  too?  " 


CASTE  THREE  231 

"  Something.     Yes,  it 's  a  table." 

Silence,  and  again  slow  progress. 

"What  was  that?" 

"  I  think  I  knocked  a  piece  of  pottery  off  the  table," 
Mary  mentioned  casually. 

"  O  Hewitt !  "  she  added  a  moment  later. 

This  frightened  him. 

"  Yes." 

"  This  is  the  dining-room.  I  felt  the  draperies  in 
the  doorway.  Yes,  here 's  a  straight  chair.  And 
here  's  the  buffet.  Heavens !  I  've  knocked  down  one 
of  Martha's  choice  pieces  of  china !  " 

A  great  fumbling  in  drawers  came  next. 

"  Here  is  where  the  candles  might  be,  but  there 
are  n't  any.  Only  silver  holders.  There  are  none  in 
this  drawer  either.  Haven't  you  a  match,  Hewitt?  " 

Hewitt  jumped. 

"Never  thought  of  that!  One  — that's  all."  He 
struck  it  against  his  shoe.  It  flared  and  went  out. 

"Say  it,  Hewitt!" 

"  Maybe  I  wanted  it  to  go  out." 

"  Why,  how  could  you?  " 

"  Mary !  "  he  said  softly,  tightening  his  hold  on  her 
hand,  "  Mary,  kiss  me!  " 

It  was  out !  His  arm  was  around  her,  her  face  was 
close  to  his,  her  warm  lips —  But  she  pushed  him 
away. 

"  Hewitt,  you  must  n't !  I  am  putting  you  on  your 
honor.  There 's  not  another  person  in  this  house. 
You  know  it.  Please  help  me  find  a  candle."  She 


232  CASTE  THREE 

was  pleading1,  and  Hewitt,  whether  in  caste  one  or 
three,  considered  himself  a  gentleman.  He  drew  back, 
the  eagerness  dying  out  of  his  face.  "If  you  had 
only  been  careful  of  that  match !  " 

"  I  guess  I  had  better  go  down-town  and  buy  some 
candles,"  he  said  slowly. 

"  And  leave  me  here  in  this  black  house  ?  Hewitt, 
how  could  you  ?  " 

"  Couldn't  you  go  next  door  and  stay?  "  he  asked 
flatly. 

"  Hewitt,  you  're  not  being  cross,  are  you  ?  Here ! 
Perhaps  there  are  some  in  here.  There  are!  Three 
fat  ones.  Now  we  will  have  to  go  into  the  kitchen 
for  matches.  Where  's  your  hand  ?  "  She  found  it 
and  pressed  it.  "  Now  you  're  not  cross,  are  you  ? 
Please!" 

"  Not  very,"  he  said  with  increasing  zest. 

"  Be  a  good  boy.  Now  go  through  this  door. 
Here  is  the  stove.  Here 's  a  match.  Light  a  candle. 
I  want  one,  too.  There ! "  and  she  smiled  with  satis- 
faction as  the  candle  sputtered  into  a  wavering  flame 
that  shone  on  her  hair  and  into  her  eyes.  She  stood 
looking  at  Hewitt  with  that  provoking  smile.  "  We 
might  find  some  sandwiches  if  we  looked,"  she  sug- 
gested, holding  his  glance. 

"  We  had  better  not  waste  these  candles,"  he  said. 

"  You  're  not  being  nice,  Hewitt  Stevenson ! 
You  're  being  terribly  glum.  You  knew  you  should  n't 
have  tried  to  kiss  me,  did  n't  you  ?  " 

He  flushed,  for  he  had  not  expected  her  to  refer 


CASTE  THREE  233 

to  the  episode.  He  turned  with  his  candle  toward  the 
door  into  the  dining-room  and  held  it  open  for  her. 

"  No  sandwiches,  old  Glummy?  "  she  smiled  up  into 
his  face,  as  she  passed  him  with  her  flickering  candle. 

He  laughed  despite  himself. 

"  Let 's  sit  on  the  porch  and  save  fuel,"  he  sug- 
gested. 

"  You  can't  go  until  the  maid  comes,  you  know. 
You  're  protecting  me." 

"Don't  you  think  she  will  come  soon?"  he  asked 
quickly,  in  mock  alarm. 

"  You  may  pray  about  it  on  the  steps." 

"  Thanks." 

But  fortunately  or  unfortunately,  according  to  your 
point  of  view,  whatever  was  wrong  with  the  lighting 
plant  was  repaired  at  this  instant,  and  the  electric 
lamp  in  the  hall  flared  into  rosy  light. 

"  And  to  think  we  might  have  sat  calmly  in  the 
swing  all  this  time!  " 

"  I  would  rather  have  done  what  we  did,"  Hewitt 
said  in  an  almost  noiseless  voice,  remembering  a  cul- 
mination of  tremors. 

"  You  're  being  nasty." 

"  No,"  he  denied. 

"  What  are  you  being,  then?  " 

He  sat  on  the  railing  and  swung  his  legs  idly  to  and 
fro,  while  Mary  watched  him  from  the  swing. 

"I'm—" 

"What?" 

"  I  'm  in  love." 


234  CASTE  THREE 

"Don't  be  silly!     With  whom?" 

"With  you." 

"  That 's  being  sillier.  I  'm  five  or  six  years  older 
than  you." 

"  That  does  not  matter." 

"  It  should." 

"  It  does  n't.  You  are  the  most  wonderful  person 
in  the  world." 

"  In  the  whole  world  ?     Really  ?  " 

He  nodded  seriously,  though  he  knew  she  was  mak- 
ing fun  of  him.  "  You  are  an  angel." 

"  Some  people  don't  think  that,"  she  gleamed. 

"  You  're  wonderful !  "  Hewitt  repeated,  helpless 
to  increase  his  vocabulary.  He  sat  down  in  the  swing. 
"  Why  don't  you  kiss  me,  Mary?  "  he  whispered  into 
her  ear,  his  breath  warm  against  her  cheek. 

"  No  man  ever  asks  a  woman  that,"  she  said,  and 
looked  down  at  her  hands. 

His  head  swam.  Without  moving  his  hands  from 
his  knees,  he  leaned  over  and  kissed  her. 

"  O  Hewitt !  "  she  said,  with  a  catch  in  her  breath. 
"  How  silly !  "  she  went  on  angrily.  "  You  are  only 
a  child.  How  dare  you?  " 

He  leaned  toward  her  again,  but  she  evaded  him,  and 
when  he  recovered  his  senses  she  was  sitting  under 
the  lamp  in  the  hall  with  a  newspaper  in  her  hands. 
He  watched  her  from  the  door  and  was  sorry,  weak 
and  sorry,  for  the  frown  on  her  face,  her  beautiful 
face. 


CASTE  THREE  235 

"  Mary!  "  he  called  in  a  low  voice. 

She  pretended  not  to  hear. 

"•Mary,  come  out! " 

"  I  'm  angry." 

"Come  out!" 

"  Will  you  promise?  " 

"What?" 

"To  be  a  gentleman?" 

"  I  thought  I  was  being  a  man,"  he  said. 

"  You  're  only  a  child.' 

"  You  said  that  before." 

"  I  repeat  it,"  and  she  came  toward  the  door. 
"'Promise?" 

"  Nothing,"  he  was  firm  in  saying. 

"If  you  try  being  silly  again,  you  may  never  come 
back  again  to  see  Mary." 

"  You  don't  mean  it,  though." 

"  Don't  make  me  prove  that  I  do." 

When  the  maid  came  up  the  walk  they  were  talking 
blithely  about  books,  and  Mary  was  telling  Hewitt 
about  Henry  James  and  was  superior  about  it,  because 
he  had  already  confessed  that  he  knew  nothing  about 
this  author. 

"  Everyone  says  '  The  Awkward  Age '  is  the  best," 
she  told  him  with  unconcealed  pride. 

"Who  is 'everyone'?" 

"  Don't  be  cross  again,  just  because  I  know  more 
than  you  do  about  something.  I  mean  the  poor  Al- 
stonians  who  never  read  poetry." 


236  CASTE  THREE 

Hewitt  was  contemptuous. 

"  I  '11  wager  there  are  not  three  people  in  Alston 
who  have  ever  read  a  word  of  Henry  James." 

"  If  I  were  a  betting  person,"  she  said  demurely, 
"  I  would  take  you  up  on  that.  Hello,  Tilly,"  she 
called  to  the  maid,  "  I  'm  so  glad  you  are  home. 
Was  n't  it  terrible  when  the  lights  went  out  ?  I  should 
have  been  frightened  to  death  if  Mr.  Stevenson  had  n't 
been  here.  Put  a  light  in  my  room,  will  you,  dear?  " 

Tilly  would.     She  was  a  slave  of  Mary's,  too. 

"  Thank  you.  Now  that  Tilly  has  come,"  she 
turned  to  say  to  Hewitt,  when  the  maid  had  gone 
around  the  house,  "  you  may  feel  free  to  leave  at  any 
time." 

"  You  're  kind." 

"  Am  I  not  ?  What  are  you  going  to  be  when  you 
grow  up  ?  " 

Hewitt  ignored  the  inference  that  he  was  not  grown 
up. 

"  I  don't  know  —  yet." 

"  I  suppose  you  will  write?  " 

He  was  so  afraid  that  she  was  making  fun  of  him 
that  he  refused  to  reveal  his  plans  for  the  future.  He 
felt  that  he  could  not  have  stood  her  laughing  at  his 
intention  to  become  a  great  poet,  or,  maybe,  a  novelist, 
since  the  latter  would  probably  pay  better  and  he  must 
support  himself.  He  might  be  both,  he  knew. 

As  he  started  to  leave,  she  stood  up  and  pulled  his 
head  down  to  her  and  kissed  his  forehead.  "  That  is 
for  being  a  good  boy  when  I  asked  you  to  be.  Good- 


CASTE  THREE  237 

night,  dear."  His  head  whirled  again,  and  he  backed 
down  the  walk  so  as  not  to  lose  sight  of  her  sooner 
than  was  necessary. 

"  Good-night !  "  she  called  from  the  door. 

Hewitt  had  no  inclination  for  bed  when  he  reached 
home.  The  house  was  dark  and  he  went  into  the 
kitchen  to  find  something  to  eat.  He  had  been  re- 
gretting those  sandwiches  for  half  an  hour.  An  apple 
pie  was  seized.  Its  indigestibility  did  not  bother  him. 
He  ate  a  huge  piece  and  drank  some  milk.  Then  he 
tiptoed  to  his  room.  He  could  hear  snores  from  his 
grandfather's  room  downstairs.  He  had  always 
wished  that  his  grandfather  would  n't  snore,  but  the 
years  did  not  lessen  the  intensity  of  this  performance. 

The  door  into  Grace's  room  was  open.  He  could 
see  her  lying  in  the  huge  bed,  by  the  light  of  the  hall 
lamp,  a  large,  dim  form.  Good  old  Grace !  He  was 
ashamed  of  all  the  times  he  had  been  secretly  irritated 
at  her  bulk  and  her  lack  of  subtlety  —  and  her  country- 
ness.  Good  old  Grace! 

He  closed  his  door  very  gently  so  as  not  to  disturb 
the  others. 

There  was  poetry  in  Hewitt's  soul  which  called  for 
release.  He  placed  a  pile  of  paper  and  his  pen  ready. 
He  attempted  a  beginning.  He  would  write  a  poem 
about  a  goddess  and  a  mortal.  The  goddess,  in  a 
spirit  of  jest,  had  allowed  the  mortal  to  kiss  her.  The 
mortal  must  die  for  it. 

"  Diana  roamed  through  Grecian  woods,"  he  wrote 
after  a  period  of  intense  concentration,  but  there  he 


238  CASTE  THREE 

stopped.  Not  for  the  life  of  him  could  he  think  of  a 
word  to  rhyme  with  woods,  and  he  wanted  couplets. 

"  Diana  roamed  through  Grecian  woods,"  he 
scanned  on  his  ringers. 

"  Diana  roamed  the  woods  of  Greece,"  he  changed 
it  to,  but  found  the  same  difficulty  with  the  final  word. 
What  rhymed  with  Greece,  besides  lease  and  peace 
and  niece,  none  of  which  suited  the  goddesses  who 
kissed  mortals  and  killed  them? 

In  the  end  he  gave  it  up,  hoping  for  more  brilliant 
thoughts  on  the  morrow.  A  huge  yawn  shook  Hewitt. 
He  undressed.  He  slept. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

THAT  kiss  given  and  accepted  on  the  Trimble 
veranda,  though  denounced  as  silly  and  with  a 
great  notice  of  difference  in  ages  —  a  matter  to 
be  silent  about  —  reverberated  through  a  week  of 
ecstasy.  It  colored  Hewitt's  smallest  action.  It  sang 
at  night  through  the  darkness,  mingling  itself  with 
the  May  breezes.  It  whistled  its  way  into  one's 
dreams  and  changed  their  tenor.  It  whispered  to  one 
in  the  daytime.  Like  the  sun,  it  was  the  source  of  all 
light.  Wonderful  Mary! 

It  must  be  admitted  that  it  had  its  provoking 
moments.  It  convinced  Hewitt  against  his  will  — 
he  pommeled  the  idea,  kicked  it,  fought  it  off,  but  it  re- 
turned stronger  than  ever  if  possible,  its  strength  in- 
creased by  opposition  —  that  Mary  Young  had  been 
in  the  "  roadster  "  the  night  he  had  seen  some  one 
on  the  Eighth  Street  pike.  This  should  not  have  dis- 
turbed his  peace  of  mind,  had  he  been  sensible.  Kiss- 
ing was  an  innocent  pastime  much  in  vogue  among  Joe 
Bales'  set.  Everybody  kissed,  as  it  were.  It  was 
pleasant  to  kiss;  therefore  why  not  kiss?  As  long  as 
this  argument  was  applied  to  oneself,  it  was  a  very 
good  one.  However,  to  be  of  value  a  kiss  must  be 

239 


240  CASTE  THREE 

one's  exclusive  property.  Once  it  is  a  thing  to  give 
others,  to  be  free  with,  it  loses  in  merit. 

Mary's  kiss  to  Hewitt  —  she  had  n't  kissed  him,  but 
assuming  that  she  had  makes  explanations  easier  — 
was  worth  a  great  deal.  It  was  invaluable,  let  us  say, 
beyond  computation  of  value.  But  if  Mary  had  also 
kissed  Tom  Brandon,  the  kiss  dropped  —  no,  not  to 
zero  from  infinity,  but  close  to  it.  Now  assuming  that 
Tom  Brandon  was  not  the  only  man  she  had  kissed, 
but  one  of  many,  then,  contrary  perhaps  to  your  ex- 
pectations, the  kiss  rose  halfway  up  the  scale.  If  a 
kiss  was  a  kind  of  unit  of  exchange,  like  money,  in 
which  you  took  what  you  wanted  and  gave  something 
else, —  admiration,  attention,  or  love, —  a  kiss  was  not 
exactly  what  Hewitt  had  always  thought  it  to  be.  But 
Mary's  kisses  were  worth  more,  because  more  people 
than  just  Hewitt  wanted  them. 

He  supposed,  in  this  mood  when  kissing  played  such 
an  enormous  part  in  his  thoughts,  that  half  the  men 
in  Alston,  or  in  the  world  for  that  matter,  would  have 
jumped  at  the  chance  to  kiss  Mary.  She  was  irre- 
sistible! Then  if  so  many  men  wanted  to  kiss  her, 
and  you  did  kiss  her,  you  had  an  experience  that  was 
worth  as  much  as  the  demand  made  it  worth.  The 
supply  in  the  case  of  a  girl  like  Mary  was  certain  to 
be  very  small  in  proportion  to  the  demand.  You  can 
easily  see  where  this  course  of  reasoning  would  bring 
you. 

Which  was  all  very  beautiful  in  an  argument,  but 
left  Hewitt  at  the  same  point  from  which  he  had 


CASTE  THREE  241 

started :  he  resented  Mary's  ever  having  kissed  any  one 
else.  He  cursed  in  good  round  terms  because  he 
was  n't  twenty-six  or  more  to  her  probable  twenty-five, 
or  whatever  she  was.  Then  he  would  have  loved  her 
many  years  sooner  and  been  the  first  to  do  so.  He 
was  sure  that  in  any  clime,  in  any  year,  at  any  hour 
when  he  had  first  seen  Mary,  he  would  have  loved  her. 
Some  author,  he  remembered,  was  always  referring 
to  the  chemistry  of  human  beings  and  to  their  harmony. 
There  was  something  in  his  soul  and  in  Mary's  which 
created  this  harmony,  Hewitt  felt.  One's  chemistry 
was  very  much  out  of  harmony  with  that  of  most 
human  beings.  There  were  the  dull,  the  loquacious, 
the  self-sufficient,  the  slow,  the  imperturbable,  the  non- 
reading,  the  pedantic  —  with  all  of  these  his  chemistry 
was  very  much  out  of  harmony. 

For  whole  days,  when  the  reverberations  from  the 
kiss  were  in  the  air,  however,  Hewitt  ignored  her  pos- 
sible kissing  of  Tom  Brandon  and  others,  and  was 
blissful.  She  liked  him,  Hewitt  Stevenson !  She  was 
interested  in  him!  She  was  adorable!  Of  course,  in 
looking  back  to  the  night  when  the  Alston  lighting 
plant  had  broken  down,  overwhelming  the  city  with 
a  reign  of  darkness  which  nevertheless  had  rebounded 
to  Hewitt's  benefit,  he  vividly  recollected  that  there 
had  really  been  more  than  one  kiss.  The  more  reason 
for  happiness.  There  had  been  the  kiss  in  the  dining- 
room  which  failed  of  culmination,  when  she  had  begged 
him  to  be  a  gentleman.  There  was  the  real  kiss. 
There  was  the  forehead  good-bye  kiss,  which  was  not 


242  CASTE  THREE 

to  be  ignored.  Altogether,  enough  to  place  anyone 
in  a  week's  paradise,  if  only  one  could  forget  Tom 
Brandon. 

On  Thursday  of  the  beautiful  week  Mary  called 
Hewitt  over  the  telephone.  Some  of  the  youngest  set, 
the  high-schoolers,  wanted  her  to  chaperone  a  picnic 
to  Glendale.  She  wanted  Hewitt  to  share  the  respon- 
sibility. Would  he? 

Hewitt  did  n't  see  how  he  could  go  on  an  afternoon 
picnic,  or  any  other  picnic,  for  that  matter,  with  the 
Smith  store  on  his  hands.  But  he  would  see  Mr. 
Smith. 

He  lingered,  like  a  child  about  to  beg  for  forbidden 
fruits,  in  the  vicinity  of  Mr.  Smith.  He  waited  until 
conditions  were  favorable.  Mr.  Smith  was  just  back 
from  lunch,  and  was  engaged  with  the  morning  paper 
which  he  had  not  read.  He  was  chuckling  over 
Roger  Bean  in  the  cartoons.  Roger  was  a  representa- 
tive citizen,  married,  with  a  plump,  small-chinned 
wife,  a  chunky  baby,  named  Woodrow  and  called 
"  Woody  "  for  short,  and  a  maid,  Golduh,  who  was 
attended  in  sentimental  relations  by  one  Clarunz,  a  po- 
liceman. The  antics  of  Golduh  were  a  source  of  daily 
amusement  to  Mr.  Smith,  who  chuckled  at  the  first 
reading,  roared  at  the  second,  and  passed  the  paper 
to  his  friends  at  the  third.  Golduh  was  having  un- 
usual difficulties  with  Clarunz,  and  was  mispro- 
nouncing words  and  misusing  the  ones  she  could  pro- 
nounce. Mr.  Smith  shook,  rattling  his  glasses  down 
upon  his  chest 


CASTE  THREE  243 

"  See  this?  "  he  called  to  Hewitt. 

"  Yes,  I  read  it  this  morning.  Say,  Mr.  Smith," 
he  said,  trying  to  act  as  if  little  hung  on  the  coming 
decision,  using,  as  it  were,  the  approach  indifferent, 
"  some  youngsters  are  having  a  picnic  at  Glendale  to- 
morrow." 

"  All  right.  I  don't  mind  their  using  the  land  so 
long  as  they  clean  it  up." 

Hewitt  laughed. 

"  Mary  Young  wants  me  to  help  chaperone  them. 
What  d'  you  think?  Is  there  any  way?  " 

"  H'h,"  snorted  Mr.  Smith,  looking  at  him  over  the 
top  of  his  glasses  which  were  again  temporarily  in 
place.  "  Why  did  n't  you  ask  me  earlier?  " 

"  I  only  found  it  out  this  morning." 

"  Mary  Young?  H'm."  He  examined  Roger  Bean 
et  al  and  burst  into  another  roar.  "  Dumn  it !  That 
man  's  funny !  "  Then  presently :  "  What  was  that  ? 
Picnic?  What  time  'd'je  want  to  go?  " 

"  About  three  or  four." 

"  All  right.  All  right.  Run  on  now  and  take  this 
cartoon  over  to  Abe  Kahn.  I  don't  want  him  to  miss 
this  one.  That  dumn  Golduh!"  More  chuckles  fol- 
lowed. 

Alston  was  the  best  city  in  the  world,  that  day  and 
the  next.  It  was  a  splendid  city.  In  some  ways  it 
might  even  have  been  said  to  have  advantages  over 
Chicago. 

The  high-schoolers  were  gleeful  picnickers.  They 
packed  the  twelve  of  themselves  into  two  motors  and 


244  CASTE  THREE 

almost  forgot  to  count  in  the  chaperones,  so  that 
Hewitt  was  in  danger  of  being  separated  from  his  won- 
derful Mary  when  the  youthful  ones  came  after  the 
most  essential  part  of  any  picnic  and  suggested  that 
Hewitt  could  get  into  one  car  and  Mary  into  the  other. 
Hewitt  refused  flatly,  and  a  boy  reluctantly  consented 
to  be  torn  from  his  own  "  date  "  in  order  to  accom- 
modate an  obdurate  Hewitt. 

"  Did  you  bring  everything  —  matches,  sugar  for 
cocoa,  salt,  glasses,  silver?"  demanded  Mary,  before 
she  would  even  step  into  the  car  and  behave  the  way 
a  proper  chaperone  should  behave. 

"  Everything." 

"  Matches?  "  Mary  insisted. 

"  I  have  some  —  this  time,"  said  Hewitt,  and  they 
were  off. 

Such  speeding !  Mary  thought  it  her  duty  to  remon- 
strate with  Harvey  Lombard,  who  was  driving  the 
Lombard  car.  But  Harvey  was  not  one  to  have  his 
freedom  curbed  by  a  mere  chaperone,  even  if  she  was 
Mary  and  a  friend  of  his  mother's.  "  Be  a  sport, 
Mary.  This  is  a  picnic,"  he  assured  her. 

So  what  else  was  there  for  Mary  to  do,  if  she  were 
not  to  make  herself  unbearably  unpopular  —  an  un- 
heard of  position  for  Mary  —  but  relapse  into  comfort 
and  amusement,  the  latter  provided  by  Hewitt,  who 
was  in  fine  spirits  and  mirthful. 

At  Glendale  fires  were  built  on  two  hilltops  among 
the  beeches.  One  was  to  be  used  for  cooking,  and  the 
other  for  an  evening  camp-fire.  The  high-schoolers 


CASTE  THREE  245 

were  more  gleeful  than  ever.  The  most  bashful  was 
gleeful  and  daring. 

Mary  and  Hewitt  left  them  to  watch  the  fires  and 
went  out  on  the  river  in  a  canoe. 

"  Do  you  like  it?  "  Mary  asked  him,  as  they  floated 
down  between  green  banks. 

"  Yes,"  his  eyes  said. 

"  I  love  it,"  she  smiled. 

"Is  that  all  — it?" 

"You,  too." 

That,  being  invited,  was  not  silly.  They  laughed 
about  it  and  cleared  the  air  of  any  inclination  on 
Hewitt's  part  toward  sentimentality.  A  splendid 
breeze  blew  from  the  east,  too,  which  put  energy  into 
his  paddle  muscles,  thus  further  doing  away  with  the 
fluid  of  sentimentality. 

The  young  ones  on  the  hill  halloed  to  them  as  the 
twilight  crept  over  the  water,  accompanied  by  a  rose- 
and  yellow-  and  crimson-streaked  sky  across  meadow 
and  hill,  and  they  beached  their  canoe  and  ran  for 
food. 

Wienerwursts  are  a  bourgeois  meat  in  town,  but 
the  best  of  delicacies  in  the  woods,  especially  when 
wrapped  in  bacon  and  unintentionally  burned  to  a  crisp 
on  one  side,  while  the  other  remains  in  a  virgin  state 
of  rawness,  the  whole  being  slipped  into  a  waiting  bun. 
The  cocoa  boiled  over  and  burned  the  cook,  who  there- 
upon upset  half  of  the  thick  brown  liquid  into  the 
camp-fire  amid  the  howls  of  an  indignant  assemblage 
of  cocoa-lovers. 


246  CASTE  THREE 

"  The  dickens !  "  moaned  the  cook.  "  You  don't 
seem  to  care  whether  I  was  burned !  " 

"  Suck  it!  "  recommended  a  doctor's  son. 

"  There  's  some  oil  in  the  car,"  Harvey  told  the  cook. 

"  What  a  splendid  fire ! "  exclaimed  Mary. 
"  Who  's  responsible  ?  " 

The  one  who  had  built  it  carried  off  Mary's  praise 
with  a  high  hand  and  dragged  a  log  almost  beyond  his 
weight  from  the  far  end  of  the  wood. 

Hewitt  was  engaged,  meantime,  in  sharpening  the 
two  ends  of  a  green  stick  upon  which  to  toast  two 
"  wieners "  at  once,  with  the  bacon  wrapped  neatly 
around  and  fastened  to  the  points.  He  was  so  skilful 
that  both  the  meat  cylinders  were  unburned  and  cooked 
through,  upon  which  the  gleeful  high-schoolers  of 
feminine  gender  surrounded  him  begging  for  "  wie- 
ners." Hewitt  decided  that  they  were  the  nicest  per- 
sons he  had  ever  met,  so  natural,  gay,  and  good-na- 
tured, primed  to  enjoy  themselves  and  to  help  everyone 
else  to  enjoy  himself.  Mary  Young  finally  objected 
to  their  monopolizing  him. 

Hewitt  found  that  being  social  with  the  progeny  of 
caste  three  was  very  easy.  Youth,  care- free  youth, 
with  fathers  and  mothers  and  money  to  protect  it! 
Youthful  fortunates  whom  a  kind  fate  had  placed  in 
families  full  of  the  wisdom  which  protects  the  child, 
gives  it  a  happy,  disciplined,  cheerful  existence,  trains 
it  to  avoid  tragedy,  to  grasp  with  firm  fingers  its  happi- 
ness, provides  it  with  definite  aims  possible  to  be  carried 


CASTE  THREE  247 

out,  enables  it  to  see  and  to  seize  the  good.  These 
fortunates  were  of  the  second  or  third  generation  of 
the  successful.  Their  fathers  and  mothers,  or,  more 
likely,  their  grandfathers  and  their  grandmothers,  came 
into  contact  with  tragedy  in  the  raw,  met  and  con- 
quered it,  grew  wise.  Reared  in  a  small  city  where 
plenty  of  other  families  with  the  same  ideals  of  ex- 
istence, the  same  interests,  the  same  pursuits,  the  same 
desire  to  lose  sight  of  the  depths  life  may  have  to  offer, 
they  live  on  the  broad,  bright  surfaces  in  the  sunlight. 
They  talk,  eat,  sleep,  play,  ride,  smile,  and  are  content, 
—  their  lives  a  welcome  anodyne.  Or,  if  by  any 
chance  fate  plays  tricks  upon  them  and  upsets  the  best 
laid  plans  of  mice  and  men,  they  still  smile. 

Altogether,  the  picnic  at  Glendale  was  a  great  suc- 
cess. Hewitt  had  none  of  the  knee  tremblings,  back- 
bone stiffenings,  the  tongue-dryings  which  had  ac- 
companied his  intercourse  with  the  elders  of  caste 
three.  And  Mary  Young  was,  when  you  had  her 
to  yourself  amid  surroundings  which  did  not  mu- 
tilate your  self-respect  by  inducing  the  bash  fulness  you 
would  n't  admit,  still  more  wonderful.  The  whole 
affair  made  Hewitt  feel  strong  and  happy  and  healthy. 
He  forgot  how  Alston  would  have  behaved  about  Keats 
and  genius  in  general,  how  it  did  n't  know  books,  how 
materialistic  it  was.  He  only  wanted  to  remember 
that  a  beech-woods  by  firelight  is  fairyland,  if  the  queen 
of  fairyland  is  present  in  person  and  awfully  nice  to 
a  plain  interloper  from  the  city  streets,  and  that  the 


248  CASTE  THREE 

young  Alstonians  were  among  the  few  satisfactory 
persons  he  had  met  in  the  course  of  his  twenty-one 
years. 

After  the  remains  of  the  meal  had  been  thrown  into 
the  fire  and  the  silver  and  dishes  had  been  packed  in 
baskets,  everyone  ran,  holding  hands  to  form  a  chain, 
down  the  hill  and  up  a  second  hill  to  the  other  fire, 
which  threw  long  gleams  of  light  into  the  darkness  of 
the  woods  and  the  flickering  bits  of  burning  leaves 
into  the  air  above.  Here  everyone  continued  to  be 
gleeful  and  sang  German  songs  in  which  Hewitt  joined, 
and  later  came  popular  songs  which  he  didn't  know 
because  he  was  disdainful  of  popular  music.  Mary 
hummed  these  latter  without  knowing  or  caring  that 
Hewitt  disapproved  of  such  outbursts  of  the  American 
composer.  She  looked  very  beautiful  as  she  leaned 
against  a  beech-trunk,  with  the  firelight  playing  across 
her  eager  face. 

A  phrase  he  had  read  somewhere  —  Hewitt  was  al- 
ways indefinite  concerning  sources  —  about  the  "  eager 
face  of  one  who  has  lived  too  fast "  flashed  into  his 
head  as  he  watched  her.  Not  that  Mary  bore  the 
marks  of  fast  living  in  the  ordinary  sense  of  those 
words.  It  was  only  that  she  had  the  eager  expression 
of  one  who  lived  intensely.  A  phrase  which  he  knew 
to  be  Wells'  followed :  "  An  immense,  tumultuous  ca- 
pacity for  living,  a  tumultuous  capacity  for  life." 
Here  was  the  secret  of  Mary's  fascination  for  people, 
of  her  success  with  the  social  set  in  Alston.  It  would 
have  been  the  secret  of  her  success  with  life  in  New 


CASTE  THREE  249 

York  or  London  or  Paris  or  Rome  or  Babylon. 
Hewitt  could  see  her,  when  he  tried,  in  any  of  those 
places,  with  a  crowd  of  adorers  about  her.  It  was  the 
mark  of  the  artist  in  her,  the  artist  who  expresses  him- 
self in  living.  Wonderful  Mary ! 

At  nine  they  packed  themselves  and  their  baskets 
into  the  two  cars  and  by  the  lights  of  the  motors,  wound 
a  slow,  devious  way  down  the  steep  hill,  across  a  nar- 
row bridge,  through  another  beech-woods,  and  out 
into  the  open  road.  The  high-schoolers  passed  from 
glee  to  hilarity.  Mary  made  Hewitt  get  into  the  other 
car  to  insure  safe  passage  home,  because  something 
might  happen,  if  they  did  n't  make  sure  that  nothing 
could.  He  went  reluctantly.  Afterward,  although  the 
change  deprived  him  of  half  an  hour  of  Mary,  he 
stopped  minding  because  the  girls  were  flatteringly 
attentive  and  the  boys  were  funny.  There  was  more 
singing  and  an  astonishing  amount  of  wit.  Everybody 
was  witty,  with  the  wit  of  nonsense.  Hewitt  held 
Harry  Caylor  down  with  an  iron  hand  and  forbade 
racing,  though  his  commands  disgruntled  the  males. 

They  arrived  in  Alston,  the  whole  fourteen  occu- 
pants of  the  two  motors,  with  no  bones  broken,  no 
punctured  tires,  and  a  prevalent  satisfaction  with  pic- 
nics that  found  its  only  exceptions  in  Harvey  Lombard 
and  Harry  Caylor,  who  agreed  that  a  little  speeding 
would  not  have  hurt  anyone  and  would  have  added 
to  their  enjoyment  immensely. 

Mary  saw  everyone  safe  home  and  then  was  herself 
taken  home.  Chicago  stock  dropped  to  ninety. 


250  CASTE  THREE 

There  was  a  light  in  the  kitchen  when  Hewitt 
reached  home,  and  also  in  his  grandfather's  room. 
Grace  tiptoed  in  when  she  heard  him  close  the  door 
and  cautioned  him  to  be  quiet. 

"  Grandpa 's  awfully  bad,"  she  said  in  a  troubled 
voice. 

"What's  the  matter?" 

"  He 's  been  bad  all  afternoon.  The  doctor  says  he 
can't  last.  He 's  too  old  now  to  get  over  anything." 

Hewitt  did  not  express  his  sorrow,  but  he  was 
sorry.  He  stood  with  his  hat  in  his  hand  at  the  foot 
of  the  stairs,  while  Grace  tiptoed  back  to  the  kitchen. 
He  could  hear  his  father  moving  back  and  forth  from 
the  dining-room  into  his  grandfather's  room,  talking  to 
some  one,  evidently  the  doctor.  Grace  went  in,  and 
there  was  more  talking  in  the  same  hushed  tones. 

Hewitt  laid  his  hat  down  and  went  in.  His  grand- 
father was  propped  up  in  bed.  His  face  and  neck 
were  so  thin  that  Hewitt  was  startled.  His  eyes 
looked  glassy  and  unseeing.  The  doctor  was  standing 
with  a  thermometer  in  his  hand,  while  Grace  and  Mr. 
Stevenson  looked  on  with  frowns  on  their  faces. 

The  scene  was  much  like  a  picture  Hewitt  had  often 
seen  on  the  wall  of  doctors'  offices,  showing  a  sick 
woman,  or  a  sick  baby, —  he  could  n't  remember 
which, —  and  a  man  with  a  pained  expression  almost 
but  not  quite  concealed  by  a  bushy  beard.  Or  was 
it  the  doctor  who  had  the  beard  ?  Anyway,  this  scene 
of  his  sick  old  grandfather  reminded  Hewitt  of  the 
picture. 


CASTE  THREE 

After  a  while  the  doctor  sat  down  by  the  bedside, 
and  Mr.  Stevenson  seated  himself  nearby,  with  his 
hands  laid  on  his  knees  and  his  lips  tightly  closed. 
Hewitt  stood  watching,  not  knowing  what  to  do. 

Grace,  in  passing  him  to  go  back  to  the  kitchen, 
where  she  seemed  to  be  doing  something  with  hot 
water,  motioned  Hewitt  to  follow  her. 

"  You  go  to  bed,  Hewie,"  she  said  in  the  same 
hushed  tone.  "  You  can't  help  a  bit,  and  he  don't 
know  anybody.  You  get  your  sleep." 

"  Why  don't  you  go  to  bed,  Grace  ?  I  '11  stay  up 
and  watch." 

Grace  threw  him  a  look  which  under  other  circum- 
stances would  have  been  contemptuous,  but  was  now 
a  combination  of  disbelief  in  his  abilities  as  a  nurse 
and  a  motherly  sympathy  with  this  disability. 

"  You  can't  do  a  thing.  Go  to  bed.  If  anything 
bad  happens,  we  '11  call  you,  though  there  's  no  use 
even  in  that.  Father  won't  move  out  of  that  room, 
and  you  can't  do  anything." 

His  uselessness  was  plainly  apparent.  He  did  not 
seem  to  count  much  as  a  factor  in  family  trouble. 
Picking  up  his  hat  mechanically,  Hewitt  followed 
Grace's  example  of  tiptoeing  and  went  upstairs.  He 
left  the  door  of  his  room  open,  because  that  seemed 
to  connect  him  with  events  downstairs  and  to  work 
against  the  feeling  that  it  was  not  quite  right  for  him 
to  go  to  bed,  despite  Grace's  instructions. 

He  undressed  slowly.  The  picture  of  the  room 
where  his  grandfather  lay  propped  against  the  pillows, 


252  CASTE  THREE 

the  table  with  the  lamp,  the  doctor  sitting  thoughtfully 
watching  the  patient,  his  father  and  Grace,  kept  rising 
in  his  mind.  He  remembered  the  night  his  mother 
had  died,  though  it  had  been  a  long  time  since  he  had 
thought  of  it.  Why  was  it  that  people  so  often  died 
in  the  night?  Were  we  nearer  the  spirit  of  the  uni- 
verse then? 

Hewitt  remembered  how  his  father  had  brought  him 
into  the  room  where  his  mother  lay,  looking  so  thin 
that  he  was  half- frightened  of  her,  the  skin  drawn 
tight  over  her  high  cheek-bones  and  a  bright  light  in 
her  gray  eyes.  He  had  timidly  taken  hold  of  her  hand 
and  had  been  startled  by  its  coldness.  What  he  had 
been  afraid  of  was  not  his  mother,  but  a  strange  some- 
thing which  had  become  a  part  of  her.  He  remem- 
bered most  vividly  her  wan  smile  as  she  had  said 
faintly  to  him,  "  Be  a  good  boy,  Hewie,  and  mind 
Grace." 

A  lump  swelled  in  Hewitt's  throat.  He  had  never 
missed  his  mother  very  much.  Paul  and  Chicago  and 
school  had  filled  the  new  life  he  had  entered  from  the 
farm.  Now  he  felt  a  sudden  sympathy  for  Grace  and 
his  father,  who  had  endured  seeing  the  place  formerly 
filled  by  her  untenanted  and  empty. 

Hewitt  got  into  bed  and  pulled  up  the  sheet.  How 
horrible  old  age  was, —  when  your  mind  wandered  to 
the  past  and  stopped  having  a  present,  when  your 
teeth  fell  out  and  you  had  to  eat  soft  things,  and  when 
your  bones  creaked  and  refused  to  hold  up  the  slouch- 
ing flesh  that  once  had  been  firm  and  hard!  Hewitt 


CASTE  THREE  253 

never  wanted  to  grow  old.  Youth,  glorious  youth, 
with  its  joys  and  sorrows  and  dreams  and  aliveness 
for  him !  He  had  always  wanted  to  get  into  a  position 
where  he  could  tell  that  Belgian,  Maeterlinck,  author- 
itatively that  his  theory  was  wrong, —  the  theory  that 
an  old  man  sitting  by  his  lamp  and  thinking  realizes 
more  from  life  than  the  active  doer. 

Why,  even  his  father  did  not  live  very  intensely, 
Hewitt  thought. 

Old  age  was  horrible!  His  grandfather  had  not 
really  been  living  for  many  years.  When  they  lived 
on  the  farm,  he  had  not  been  anything  but  an  old 
man  moving  from  one  warm  spot  to  another,  except 
in  summer,  when  it  was  from  one  cool  spot  to  another, 
from  the  shade  of  the  back-porch  by  the  well  to  that 
of  the  catalpa  tree,  and  at  last  out  by  the  spring-house 
under  the  fir-hedge.  He  had  petted  the  cat  and  the 
dog,  whittled  hickory  sticks  into  hundreds  of  walking 
sticks,  had  eaten  and  slept. 

Hewitt,  in  bed  with  the  sheet  under  his  chin,  hoped 
he  never  would  grow  old,  and  if  he  did,  as  he  probably 
would,  that  he  would  die  before  he  had  turned  into 
an  automaton  moved  by  nothing  except  a  strange  de- 
sire to  go  on  being  an  automaton  and  not  to  disinte- 
grate into  the  dust  from  which  it  took  its  being. 

Now,  downstairs,  his  grandfather  did  not  want  to 
die.  He  clung  to  life  determinedly.  Hewitt  remem- 
bered that  once  on  the  farm  the  old  man  had  been  very 
ill  and  had  broken  out  quite  suddenly  with  a  feeble, 
"  By  Gad,  if  I  could  get  up,  I  'd  get  me  some  oranges !  " 


254  CASTE  THREE 

Later,  when  Mr.  Stevenson  wanted  to  have  the  Meth- 
odist minister  come  in  from  the  dining-room  to  talk 
with  him,  he  burst  out  with  weak  fierceness,  "  Lord, 
what  do  I  want  with  a  damned  preacher  ?  "  Hewitt 
had  never  cherished  these  memories  of  his  grandfather 
with  any  fondness.  "  The  old  sinner !  "  he  had  once 
called  him  to  his  mother,  in  the  days  when  he  was 
taken  regularly  to  church  by  the  family  and  absorbed 
the  Methodist  version  of  Christianity  with  avidity  — 
with  as  much  avidity,  indeed,  as  later  he  took  up  the 
views  of  scientists  who  made  a  new  god  with  qualities 
in  common  with  the  God  of  the  Old  and  New  Testa- 
ments, but  different  in  many  particulars,  an  impersonal 
god  who  acted  through  laws  he  had  created. 

Whereas,  according  to  all  his  theories  of  intolerance, 
Hewitt  should  have  sympathized  with  his  grandfather's 
pronounced  atheistical  tendencies,  he  nevertheless  re- 
sented having  him  for  a  grandfather.  It  wasn't  re- 
spectable. Hewitt  theoretically  hated  the  respectable, 
but  practically,  if  he  had  been  selecting  his  family,  he 
would  have  chosen  one  which  walked  the  straight  and 
narrow  path  of  the  usual.  Youth  could  doubt;  but 
old  age  should  have  outgrown  doubt.  He  preferred 
his  father's  narrow-minded  Methodism.  At  this  point 
he  dropped  asleep,  with  the  thought  of  his  grandfather 
set  aside  by  the  memory  of  the  high-schoolers  and 
Mary  singing  on  the  hill.  Youth  was  so  beautiful. 
Why  should  n't  one  always  keep  the  joys  of  youth  ? 

Hewitt  awoke  with  a  start.  The  sun,  only  dimmed 
by  its  passage  through  the  white  blind,  was  shining  on 


CASTE  THREE  255 

his  bed.  He  jumped  up  guiltily.  His  grandfather 
must  be  all  right  or  they  would  have  called  him.  He 
dressed  hurriedly  and  went  downstairs.  His  father 
and  Grace  were  sitting  over  coffee  and  toast  at  the 
kitchen  table. 

"  Come  on  in  to  breakfast,"  Grace  said  in  a  voice 
which  was  only  different  from  her  usual  one  by  its 
softness.  "  Grandpa  died  this  morning  about  four." 

Mr.  Stevenson  sat  silently  crunching  his  toast,  and 
Hewitt  was  reminded  of  the  morning  after  his  mother 
died  five,  no,  six  years  ago. 

"Did  he  suffer  much?"  Hewitt  asked,  because  he 
felt  that  he  must  say  something  to  show  that  he  felt 
sorry.  He  said  this  in  a  low  voice  and  glanced  invol- 
untarily at  his  grandfather's  closed  door. 

"  He  moaned  all  the  time,  but  the  doctor  said  he 
did  n't  suffer  as  much  as  we  thought  he  did.  Eat 
some  breakfast,  Hewie.  There  's  no  use  making  your- 
self sick." 

"  I  remember  once,  when  I  was  a  little  boy,  my 
mother  made  me  a  pair  of  trousers  out  of  his,"  Mr. 
Stevenson  began,  without  looking  at  his  children.  "  I 
smoked  a  corn-silk  cigarette  and  had  to  try  to  put  it 
out  quick,  so  mother  would  n't  see  it.  It  burned  a 
big  hole  in  my  pocket,  and  mother  was  goin'  to  whip 
me,  but  father  would  n't  let  her.  He  said  I  'd  live 
and  learn  without  much  Methodist  punishment." 

There  was  no  sadness  in  Mr.  Stevenson's  voice.  He 
was  merely  rehearsing  facts  so  long  past  that  they 
had  lost  all  power  to  arouse  joy  or  sorrow  in  him. 


256  CASTE  THREE 

"  Another  time  mother  had  all  of  us  boys  lined 
up  ready  —  all  six  of  us,  all  dead  now,  except  your 
uncle  Jim  out  in  Colorado  and  me  —  she  had  us  all 
lined  up  ready  for  Sunday  school.  Father  was 
whittling  canes.  He  was  always  whittling  canes. 
He  's  made  enough  hickory  canes  in  his  life  to  give 
one  to  every  man  in  Alston.  He  sat  there  whittling 
and  smiling.  Then  when  mother  had  us  all  ready, 
he  stood  up  kind  o'  slow  and  looked  us  all  over  care- 
ful. *  You  look  perty  good,  boys,'  he  said.  *  Let's 
go  fishin' .'  I  '11  never  forget  how  mother  looked  as 
she  stood  there.  She  just  blazed.  '  Maybe  you  think, 
because  you  're  a  heathen,  your  children  are  going  to 
be  heathen,  too,  Mr.  Stevenson!  But  they  are  not!' 
And  we  all  went  to  Sunday  school.  Father  never 
went.  He  said  that  God  had  played  him  too  many 
dirty  tricks  for  him  to  believe  in  Him.  I  used  to 
wonder  what  they  were.  He  's  never  told  to  this  day. 
You  could  n't  get  him  inside  a  church."  He  drank 
some  coffee.  "  I  wonder  if  he 's  sorry  now,"  he 
added. 

Presently  he  arose. 

"  Maybe  he  and  Matilda  are  talking  over  things 
now,"  he  said.  "  Matilda "  was  Hewitt's  mother. 
He  then  stood  looking  solemnly  out  of  the  back  door 
at  the  spring  sunshine,  his  hands  in  his  pockets. 
"  Matilda  was  the  only  one  who  could  do  anything 
with  him  when  he  used  to  have  spells  —  moods.  He 
liked  her.  I  suppose  you  'd  better  call  up  the  Odd 
Fellows,  Hewitt.  He  never  went  to  the  meetings,  but 


CASTE  THREE  257 

he  belonged."  He  walked  out  into  the  yard,  and  they 
could  see  him  nipping  off  ends  of  grapevine  with  his 
knife. 

Afterward  Hewitt  went  to  work,  because  Grace  in- 
sisted that  he  should. 

"  There  's  not  a  bit  of  sense  in  your  staying  around 
here  wasting  time,"  she  said.  "  Father  will  be  here 
all  day.  I  'm  going  to  lie  down  after  awhile  and  get 
some  rest.  I  've  already  sent  a  telegram  to  your  Uncle 
Jim.  He  can't  get  here  for  the  funeral.  He  has  n't 
paid  much  attention  to  your  grandfather  for  years, 
anyway.  Never  gave  a  dollar  toward  taking  care  of 
him.  That 's  his  affair,  of  course.  We  did  n't  need 
his  help.  You  go  to  work,  Hewie." 

Hewitt  demurred,  but  went.  "  Be  a  good  boy  and 
mind  Grace,"  came  back  to  him  in  his  mother's  words. 
And  in  this  case  he  wanted  to  get  back  to  the  store 
where  life  was  going  on  without  pause,  although  an 
old  man  had  passed  out  of  it. 

During  the  funeral  ceremony  in  the  stiff  parlor  sel- 
dom used  for  anything  except  ceremonies,  Hewitt  held 
Grace's  arm  protectingly,  but  she  was  calmer  than  he 
was.  He  felt  ashamed  of  his  tears,  but  they  welled 
up  in  his  eyes  and  wet  his  cheeks.  His  father  sat 
with  set  lips  and  vacant  eyes,  and  Hewitt  guessed  that 
his  mind  was  on  those  far-off  days  when  he  had  been 
a  little  boy  half -pleased  and  half-distressed  over  his 
father's  actions,  especially  those  concerning  the  rear- 
ing of  the  children  —  an  old  man  who  did  n't  believe 
in  God  because  He  had  played  him  too  many  dirty 


258  CASTE  THREE 

tricks,  never  realizing  that  he  was  accusing  a  being  by 
his  very  expression. 

The  carriages  full  of  Methodists  and  Odd  Fellows, 
whom  the  old  man  had  never  known  in  his  days 
of  living,  drove  into  the  clean,  neat,  wooded  cemetery 
along  smooth  winding  roads,  among  all  the  varieties 
of  small  or  pretentious  headstones  with  which  the 
living  commemorate  the  dead. 

When  the  services  were  over,  Hewitt  told  Grace 
and  his  father  that  he  would  walk  home  later.  Some 
impulse  made  him  want  to  remain.  He  wandered 
through  the  thick  grass,  past  the  green  mounds  sur- 
mounted by  their  monuments,  under  the  yews,  willows, 
and  maples,  into  the  older  part  of  the  cemetery. 
There,  where  a  clear  brook  made  a  winding  way,  with 
little  movement  discernible,  over  the  smooth  white-and- 
brown  pebbles,  he  sat  down  on  the  bank  under  a  maple 
and  thought. 

Hewitt  always  thought  where  other  boys  of  twenty- 
one  acted. 

For  a  while  he  was  so  concerned  with  the  slight 
evidences  of  current  in  the  stream  that  he  could  not 
think  about  what  he  had  intended  to  think  about  — 
souls.  The  water  was  so  clear  that  he  could  see  the 
grains  of  sand  moving  forward  ever  so  gradually. 
Some  yellow  leaves,  the  fine,  thin  leaves  of  a  willow 
farther  upstream,  floated  past  in  leisurely  procession, 
a  stately  squadron. 

His  mother  and  his  grandfather  —  where  were  they? 
In  some  place  outside  the  sunlight  of  the  May  after- 


CASTE  THREE  259 

noon?  He  hoped  that  the  place  where  they  were  was 
bright.  He  hated  dullness  and  mistiness.  The  heaven 
of  the  spiritualists — at  least  Letsky's  version  of  it  — 
filled  Hewitt  with  horror.  He  did  n't  want  his  mother 
to  be  a  misty  ghost  in  misty  air,  invisible  to  humans. 
He  wanted  her  to  be  in  some  pleasant,  sunny  place 
like  this.  The  graves  did  not  detract  from  the  bright- 
ness; they  only  added  serenity  to  it.  They  quieted 
what  in  other  parts  of  the  out-of-doors  might  be  the 
over-brightness  of  May.  In  a  brilliant  blue  sky  floated 
white  cumulous  clouds,  fluffy  at  the  top  and  straight 
and  sturdy  across  the  bottom.  They,  too,  reminded 
him  of  ships  at  sea.  It  would  be  very  pleasant  to  think 
that  his  mother  was  in  a  heaven  above  the  clouds,  as 
he  had  thought  in  his  younger  days. 

He  fell  to  wondering  about  souls. 

Perhaps  his  grandfather  was  really  done  for,  as  the 
Old  Testament  said,  "  dust  returned  to  dust."  If  his 
mind  were  something  made  by  a  queer  mixture  of 
chemicals  which  no  one  understood,  then  probably  he 
was  done  for.  If  that  were  all,  a  gay  life  and  a  short 
one,  youth  said. 

Hewitt  did  not  want  to  be  a  materialist.  There 
must  be  something  beyond,  although  wanting  some- 
thing beyond  often  struck  him  as  being  a  gross  injustice 
to  a  God  who  had  given  men  an  earth  on  which  to 
take  their  chances  at  happiness.  The  unsatisfactory 
thing  about  the  earth  was  that  so  few  people  procured, 
despite  unrelenting  efforts,  their  happiness  there. 
Some  didn't  know  how  to  procure  it;  some  snatched 


260  CASTE  THREE 

and  missed;  some  took  it  and  then  lost  it;  some  got 
only  a  little  piece  of  it. 

What  was  soul?  Was  it  a  sense  of  the  beautiful, 
the  recognition  of  the  spiritual,  man's  atom  of  the 
infinite,  a  product  of  mind  that  existed  only  when  one 
wanted  it  to  exist  ?  He  had  been  in  the  habit  of  accus- 
ing all  except  the  few  with  a  lack  of  soul.  What  he 
meant  by  that,  he  decided,  attempting  to  reduce  his  im- 
pulsive generalities  to  their  elements,  was  that  all  ex- 
cept the  few  lacked  a  perception  of  the  values  of  living, 
and  of  beauty  as  a  factor  in  those  values.  They 
lacked  personality,  color. 

Mary  Young  had  such  a  beautiful  soul!  He  was 
not  so  sure  about  his  grandfather's.  Youth  cannot 
judge  of  age;  it  is  too  hidden  in  the  crust  deposited 
by  the  years.  But  there  must  be  a  heaven  where  souls 
would  meet  and  understand  each  other.  It  would  only 
be  in  such  a  place  that  he  and  Mary  Young  would  love 
each  other,  not  emotionally,  unless  emotion  became 
rarefied  there,  but  with  complete  understanding.  All 
souls  would  understand,  with  the  curtains  of  the  flesh 
rent  asunder.  The  pure  democracy! 

Hewitt  felt,  when  he  was  away  from  Mary,  that 
layer  upon  layer  of  things  he  could  not  understand,  but 
vaguely  apprehended,  lay  between  his  soul  and  hers. 
There  had  been  instants  when  she  was  opaque  to  him, 
when  no  gleam  of  a  soul  he  could  understand  shone 
through.  She  never  seemed  to  see  caste  three  in  its 
artificial  relations  to  the  rest  of  the  world,  but  only  to 
value  it  highly  as  a  sphere.  She  talked  about  democ- 


CASTE  THREE  261 

racy  to  him.  She  was  democratic,  she  said  with  pride, 
meaning  that  she  was  not  limited  by  the  lines  set  by 
caste  three.  But  she  was  n't  democratic. 

Well,  if  there  were  only  this  world,  caste  three  might 
be  wise  to  set  such  store  upon  this  one. 

Hewitt  decided  to  go  back  to  the  store.  He 
wouldn't  work,  but  he  would  talk  to  Mr.  Smith  and 
regain  a  sense  of  reality  he  found  he  often  lost  now 
when  he  was  away  from  people  for  any  length  of  time. 
He,  the  hermit ! 

The  business  streets  of  Alston  were  crowded. 
Hewitt  felt  relief  in  being  again  in  the  midst  of  bus- 
iness which  may  pause,  but  never  stops.  Living,  liv- 
ing, living!  That  is  death's  best  challenger.  Death 
can  take  one,  but  life  goes  on.  To  what  inexplicable 
ultimate  conclusion  ?  The  black  angel  takes  his  quota, 
but  the  world  wags  on. 

There  was  a  hum  of  activity  in  the  book-store.  Mr. 
Smith  and  Mrs.  Chancellor  were  both  busy,  and  they 
had  called  in  the  errand-boy  to  help.  Mr.  Smith 
caught  sight  of  Hewitt  and  motioned  for  him. 

"  Mary  Young  called  up  a  while  ago.  She  wants 
you  to  telephone  her.  Yes,  we  're  busy,  but  we  can 
manage.  We  have  n't  reached  the  point  yet  in  Smith's 
where  we  can't  pay  some  honor  to  the  dead."  He 
patted  Hewitt's  shoulder  in  gruff  kindliness. 

Death,  even  when  it  is  your  grandfather's,  whose 
age  has  found  no  message  for  your  youth,  does  leave 
a  sting  and  a  depression.  Hewitt  was  glad  to  hear 
Mary's  voice. 


262  CASTE  THREE 

"  I  was  just  getting  ready  to  run  out  to  play  golf 
with  the  Millers,  but  you  come  down.  I  want  to  see 
you." 


She  was  dressed  in  a  sheer  white  dress  of  lace,  filmy 
lace  that  showed  just  the  suggestion  of  her  warm  neck 
and  arms  through  its  meshes.  She  took  Hewitt's 
hand. 

"  I  'm  so  sorry.     Sit  down  here  with  me  and  talk." 

"I  thought  you  were  going  to  —  play  golf?"  he 
stuttered,  touched  by  her  sympathy. 

"  I  was,  but  I  'm  going  to  talk  to  you  now." 

"  That 's  not  fair.  I  can't  have  you  being  kind  to 
me  when  it  spoils  your  fun." 

"I've  changed  my  golf  clothes;  so  don't  say  any- 
thing more  about  my  going.  I  'm  dressed  up.  Can't 
you  see  that?  I  dressed  up  for  you." 

She  looked  at  him  with  half -closed  eyes  and  the  pro- 
voking smile.  He  knew  that  she  wanted  to  be  thanked 
for  being  nice  to  him.  And  he  was  in  a  mood  not  to 
be  too  critical  of  the  desire  in  her  for  thanks.  He 
had  been  —  he  might  as  well  admit  it  now  —  just  a 
little  bored  with  thinking  about  the  soul.  No  one 
could  come  to  a  conclusion  about  such  things ;  one  only 
changed  conclusions.  Here  it  was  cheerful  and  lovely ; 
death  could  not  penetrate  here,  he  felt  sure.  There 
was  some  conspiracy  against  thoughts  of  death  in 
caste  three.  Hewitt  was  so  extravagantly  and  frankly 
worshipful  in  this  mood  that  Mary  enjoyed  herself. 


CASTE  THREE  263 

She  let  him  talk  about  books  a  little;  but  mostly  they 
talked  about  themselves,  and  most  of  all  about  Mary. 
Hewitt  tried  to  explain  to  her  how  she  was  different 
from  all  the  others  in  Alston,  and  Mary  was  as  inter- 
ested as  people  are  when  they  are  told  admiringly  that 
they  have  succeeded  in  their  attempts  to  distinguish 
themselves  from  the  commonplace. 

"  I  must  n't  let  you  stay  too  late,  because  I  am  going 
to  Indianapolis  for  dinner,"  she  told  him  at  length. 

The  ancient  fury  of  jealousy  blinded  Hewitt,  but  he 
fought  with  it  until  the  only  indications  that  it  had 
been  there  were  two  mottled  red  spots  under  and 
around  his  eyes.  He  tried  to  remember  that  he  had 
had  almost  two  hours  of  her,  that  she  had  been  sweet 
and  thoughtful  on  the  day  he  needed  her,  but  the 
thought  of  her  motoring  to  Indianapolis  with  Tom 
Brandon  —  he  felt  certain  that  the  man  was  Tom 
Brandon,  although  Mary  had  never  uttered  his  name 
to  him  —  filled  him  with  a  hot  disregard  for  all  other 
facts.  The  jealousy  flared  after  all. 

"Why  do  you  go  to  Indianapolis?"  he  asked 
abruptly. 

"  I  like  to  go.  I  enjoy  riding.  Don't  you  want  me 
to  be  happy?  " 

"  Of  course  I  do.     I  want  you  to  be  happy." 

But  there  was  no  satisfaction  in  his  voice.  He 
wound  his  ringers  in  and  out  and  would  n't  look  at 
her. 

"  Going  to  Indianapolis  makes  me  happy.  Then 
are  n't  you  glad  to  have  me  go?  " 


264  CASTE  THREE 

He  shook  his  head. 

"  I  can't  bear  having  you  go  with  Tom  Brandon," 
he  said  quickly. 

"With  whom?" 

"  With  Tom  Brandon."  He  did  not  want  to  repeat 
it,  but  he  had  to. 

A  hard  look  came  into  Mary's  usually  gentle  eyes, 
and  she  spoke  sharply. 

"  You  can't  know  that  I  'm  going  with  Tom  Bran- 
don, so  please  don't  talk  about  him." 

He  winced  visibly  and  reached  for  his  hat. 

"  I  don't  want  to  keep  you,"  he  said,  and  tried  to 
make  his  voice  pleasantly  indifferent. 

"  You  aren't  keeping  me.  Sit  down,  Hewitt!  "  she 
commanded,  with  her  old  smile.  "  Don't  be  silly." 

"  I  always  seem  to  be  silly,  in  your  estimation,"  he 
said,  with  a  touch  of  bitterness. 

"  You  are  being  silly  to-day.  You  're  jealous. 
There  's  no  use  being  jealous,  dear.  I  like  you  aw- 
fully, but  you  're  only  a  child.  And  I  have  to  be 
happy! " 

The  last  was  a  cry  not  for  him,  but  for  life.  Mary 
was  saying  this  almost  defiantly,  to  something  outside 
of  him  and  of  her.  Hewitt's  jealousy  died  a  quick  and 
shamed  death.  He  sat  down  and  gazed  at  her. 

"  I  know,"  he  said,  just  as  though  he  did.  "  I  'm 
sorry  I  acted  that  way.  I  'm  a  brute.  I  understand 
better  than  you  think,  even  if  I  am  a  youngster  to 
you.  I  love  you,  Mary."  There  was  an  unexpected 
eloquence  in  his  voice.  "  I  do  want  you  to  be  happy. 


CASTE  THREE  265 

I  'd  do  anything  in  the  world  to  make  you  happy.  If 
I  bother  you,  send  me  away." 

"  You  don't  bother  me.  You  help  me.  I  like  you 
awfully.  I  sometimes  think  you  really  do  understand, 
in  a  way  most  men  don't."  She  was  intimately  appeal- 
ing. "  Some  time  I  want  you  to  do  something  big. 
Don't  drivel.  Be  a  man!  Now  you  must  run  home. 
I  have  to  dress  for  dinner." 

Hewitt  got  up  with  a  feeling  of  finding  his  head  in 
a  different  place  from  where  he  expected  to  find  it. 
He  smiled  dimly  and  went  out  the  door  without  look- 
ing back  —  that  is,  he  intended  not  to  look  back,  but 
Mary's  voice,  gaily  determined  to  be  forgetful  of  all 
that  she  had  been  saying,  broke  in. 

"  We  have  both  been  silly  this  time.  Let 's  forget 
it  and  just  be  happy.  Be  a  good  boy.  Laugh  at  every- 
thing. Good-bye." 

She  had  pulled  a  mask  off  and  on  again,  and  while 
she  had  sat  barefaced,  he  had  seen  Mary  crying  out  for 
something  which  life  had  n't  given  and  might  never 
give  her.  He  was  n't  sure  what  that  something  was. 
But  the  mask  was  on  again,  and  she  would  probably  so 
regret  having  pulled  it  off,  if  only  for  an  instant,  that 
she  would  be  all  the  gayer  that  night  —  for  Tom  Bran- 
don. 

The  subdued  feeling  which  had  been  his  all  day,  be- 
cause of  death,  was  still  upon  Hewitt.  A  Sunday  quiet 
was  in  the  air  for  him.  Some  children  were  riding 
a  pony  down  the  Trimble  driveway  as  he  went  out. 
Some  others  were  roller-skating  down  the  walk,  happily 


266  CASTE  THREE 

unaware  of  any  unsatisfactoriness  in  life.  Perhaps 
life  was  kind  to  them  because  they  demanded  so  little. 
Here  was  material  for  a  philosophy. 

What  puppets  we  are,  even  caste  three,  the  seem- 
ingly impregnable.  Are  we  ever  rid  of  a  sense  of 
our  puppetry?  Or  is  it  only  the  Hewitts  who  are 
cursed,  or  only  youth  which  is  cursed,  with  the  remem- 
brance of  it? 


CHAPTER  XIV 

PEOPLE  have  attempted  to  dispense  with  the  law 
of  rhythm  at  various  times  in  the  history  of  the 
individual  and  of  the  race.  But  law  is  law,  and  at- 
tempts to  set  aside  natural  law  have  seldom  proved  suc- 
cessful. In  the  workings  of  the  emotions  the  law  is 
so  clear  that  he  who  runs  may  read,  because  the  emo- 
tions are  complex  reactions  difficult  to  analyze,  but 
clear  of  expression.  Take  the  law  of  rhythm,  for 
example.  There  is  no  ecstasy  without  an  accompany- 
ing depression,  no  rise  without  a  fall.  If  love  is  very, 
very  good  to  you  to-day,  to-morrow  it  will  be  very, 
very  distasteful  —  or  next  week  or  next  month.  You 
can't  evade  this  law,  except  by  staying  safely  and  com- 
fortably out  of  love,  and  then  fate  laughs  and  sends 
you  pell-mell  into  some  other  law  concerned  with  other 
emotions. 

Hewitt's  beautiful  week  came  to  an  end.  It  did 
not  end  until  after  he  had  composed  his  first  love  letter, 
but  it  did  end.  With  some  relief  he  reached  Smith's 
store  the  morning  after  his  grandfather's  funeral.  He 
had  been  weltering  in  emotion,  and  satiety  was  re- 
gretable.  Another  law.  The  mind  loves  a  level,  just 
as  it  loves  to  desert  the  level  and  then  to  return  to  it. 

He  was  business-like  and  pleasant.  He  wanted  to 
267 


268  CASTE  THREE 

eliminate  the  personal  element  from  his  affairs  and  ad- 
just the  flood  of  impressions  that  had  rushed  in  upon 
him  without  giving  him  time  to  masticate,  digest,  and 
assimilate  them  properly.  Unpacking  magazines  was 
fun.  One  was  dealing  with  paper,  which  is  paper  and 
nothing  else  that  one  cares  to  wonder  about.  If  he 
had  not  been  so  determinedly  business-like,  he  would 
have  been  annoyed  when  Mrs.  Chancellor  came  back 
to  help  him.  He  wanted  to  be  alone  with  things.  He 
wanted  to  adjust  his  new  experiences  until  they  became 
a  part  of  him.  So  it  is  with  the  egotist. 

When  the  magazines  were  arranged  in  neat  piles, 
with  the  unpopular  high-brow  and  mechanical  journals 
at  one  end,  Hewitt  set  to  work  to  clear  the  stationery 
display  from  one  window.  Mr.  Smith  had  told  him  to 
put  in  office-supplies  when  he  had  time.  By  nine- 
thirty,  with  the  aid  of  the  errand  boy,  he  had  the  win- 
dow filled  with  an  office-desk,  lights,  paper,  filing  cab- 
inets, and  an  adding-machine.  By  using  pasteboard 
sets  of  human  figures,  sent  out  by  the  adding-machine 
company,  the  whole  assumed  a  semblance  of  reality, 
with  a  man  at  the  desk  and  a  girl  at  the  machine. 
Hewitt  walked  out  to  the  street  to  take  toll  of  his  work. 
The  survey  pleased  him. 

Mr.  Smith  stopped  as  he  came  in. 

"  What 's  the  matter  with  putting  a  dictionary  at  the 
side  of  the  desk  there?"  he  asked. 

"  Had  n't  thought  of  it.  I  '11  put  it  in.  How  does 
it  all  look?" 

"  Pretty 'good.     I  thought  for  a  minute  that  it  was 


CASTE  THREE  269 

a  real  girl.  Coming  down  the  street,  it  looks  natural 
as  life.  That  adding-machine  manufacturing  concern 
puts  out  good  ads,  does  n't  it?  Good  stuff."  Then  he 
was  gruffer  than  usual  in  his  "  good-morning  "  to  Mrs. 
Chancellor,  by  which  Hewitt  understood  that  ke  really 
was  admiring  the  window.  "  Might  change  that  other 
window  some  day,"  he  called  from  his  desk.  "  I  '11 
give  you  a  free  hand  with  that  one.  You  can  put  what 
you  like  in  it,  and  we  '11  see  what  happens.  Just  so  you 
don't  have  us  all  in  jail." 

Under  this  stimulus  Hewitt  hatched  plans  for 
making  cards  to  advertise  the  new  books  Mr.  Smith 
had  allowed  him  to  order.  "  I  '11  sell  every  one  of 
those  or  bust,"  was  his  inner  decision. 

"  Come  here,  Hewitt ;  I  want  you  to  write  a  letter 
for  me,"  Mr.  Smith  called  to  him.  "  And  say,"  he 
added  in  a  confidential  tone,  "  you  can  write  this  one 
yourself  from  what  I  tell  you.  My  writing  is  pretty 
hard  to  make  out,  I  guess." 

By  eleven  Hewitt's  concern  with  "  things  "  had  be- 
come less  intense.  The  law  of  rhythm  was  working. 

He  began  to  think  about  Mary.  Mary  had  gone  to 
Indianapolis  to  dinner  with  Tom  Brandon.  While  he 
mechanically  sold  pens,  pencils,  and  typewriting-paper 
to  a  boy  from  Preston's,  Hewitt  followed  Mary  in 
Tom's  roadster  over  twilit  roads  to  the  city.  Then 
they  went  to  a  hotel  for  dinner.  Mary  would  be  en- 
tirely at  home  in  the  atmosphere  of  the  dining  urban- 
ites.  The  noise  and  color  and  music,  combined  with 
the  idea  that  this  was  the  proper  thing  to  stimulate  the 


270  CASTE  THREE 

best  people,  would  stimulate  her.  She  would  be 
amused  in  a  way  in  which  she  could  never  be  amused 
by  the  companionship  of  Hewitt,  who  lacked  the  pres- 
tige to  create  excitement.  Mary  loved  excitement. 
He  wondered  if  that  was  what  she  meant  by  happiness. 
She  demanded  people  with  prestige  and  money  to  ob- 
tain happiness.  After  that,  what?  Hewitt  wondered. 

Long,  long  ago,  before  he  had  met  Mary,  Hewitt 
had  a  dim  ideal  of  a  woman,  formulated  in  Chicago 
where  he  came  in  contact  with  few  women.  This 
woman  out  of  the  mist  of  the  ideal  had  been  a  sensible 
person,  interested  in  a  home  and  children  and  a  garden, 
a  "  homey  "  sort  of  person  devoted  to  one  man.  They 
—  the  woman  and  the  man  —  sat  on  the  veranda  or 
in  the  garden,  which  was,  by  the  way,  full  of  old-fash- 
ioned holly-hocks  and  larkspur  and  bachelor  buttons 
and  daisies  and  forget-me-nots  and  roses,  talking  about 
their  day  and  their  children.  A  very  sentimental  af- 
fair, especially  when  they  began  to  talk  about  their 
love  for  one  another! 

But  Hewitt  had  been  very  fond  of  that  woman.  She 
had  worn  dresses  of  plain  linen,  or  even  gingham,  with 
snowy  collars  and  cuffs  and  low-heeled  shoes.  Her 
hair  was  wavy  and  worn  low  on  her  slender  column  of 
a  neck.  It  was  of  gold.  A  very  simple,  beautiful, 
lovable  woman. 

Since  Mary  Young  had  come  into  his  life,  Hewitt 
had  almost  forgotten  the  other.  Now  she  came  back 
into  his  mind  as  he  wrapped  up  the  office-supplies  for 
the  boy  from  Preston's  and  made  a  record  of  the 


CASTE  THREE  271 

charge  on  the  books  dealing  with  the  wholesale  part  of 
the  Smith  trade.  This  woman  of  former  dreams  did 
not  find  many  people  necessary  to  her  existence.  She 
was  content  with  the  few;  her  happiness  was  within 
her  family.  She  and  Mary  would  have  had  nothing  in 
common.  Mary  married  ?  Hewitt  could  not  imagine 
it.  She  was  meant  to  suck  the  honey  from  a  thousand 
flowers,  to  fly  through  the  sunshine  from  field  to  field 
under  a  May  sky  flecked  with  soft  clouds.  Hers  was 
the  sweetness  drawn  from  a  thousand  sources.  She 
was  meant  to  be  loved  by  a  hundred  men.  The  world 
was  dull,  unless  she  was  of  your  part  of  it.  Color 
followed  her.  Lesser  lights  came  into  play  when  she 
was  absent,  just  as  the  moon  and  stars  signal  to  one 
another  when  the  sun  has  gone,  but  they  were  not  the 
right  lights.  Mary  was  the  sun.  People  knew  that 
she  was.  Ernestine  Smith  never  went  to  a  party  unless 
Mary  was  going  to  be  there.  Katherine  Miller  was 
guided  in  all  the  details  of  her  daily  living  by  Mary. 
Tom  Brandon's  sister  refused  to  be  made  happy  unless 
Mary  stayed  with  her  at  least  a  fourth  of  the  time. 
Abe  Kahn's  children  had  attached  her  to  their  house- 
hold years  before,  and  fought  off  all  more  youthful 
acquaintances  when  they  could  have  Mary.  Hewitt 
wondered  if  anyone  ever  played  bridge  in  Alston  with- 
out Mary. 

Wonderful  Mary!  She  seemed  to  give  all  of  her- 
self to  anyone  she  singled  out  as  worthy  of  any  part 
of  her.  If  you  were  important  to  Mary,  she  saw  to 
it  that  you  became  important  to  the  world.  She  de- 


272  CASTE  THREE 

rided  you,  jested  with  you,  pointed  out  your  defects  — 
to  you — ,  but  to  the  world  you  were  all  wool  and  a 
yard  wide. 

Hewitt  sold  a  cheap  story-magazine  to  a  traveling 
salesman  and  wondered  how  a  man  could  endure  wast- 
ing his  time  over  it.  People,  it  seemed  to  him,  actually 
ran  away  from  wisdom  and  courted  vapidity.  Such 
is  the  intolerance  of  youth. 

It  was  not  until  late  afternoon  that  the  reaction  from 
the  emotionalism  of  the  day  before  had  worn  itself  out, 
and  emotion  again  became  important.  Hewitt  had  not 
been  emotional  about  Mary  in  the  morning,  only  an- 
alytical. That  was  an  act  of  digestion.  But  when 
Mary  had  been  assimilated,  she  crept  into  his  feelings 
with  extraordinary  rapidity.  Every  item  showing  how 
other  people  loved  her  added  to  his  own  reasons  for 
loving  her. 

He  called  her  over  the  telephone,  with  the  hope  of 
hearing  her  voice.  He  had  not  seen  her  for  nearly 
twenty-four  hours  and  she  had  been  out  of  Alston,  an 
experience  that  might  have  changed  her.  He  could 
hardly  get  to  the  telephone  quickly  enough,  once  he 
decided  to  call  her.  Mary  was  playing  golf  at  the 
club,  Mrs.  Trimble  told  him. 

Hewitt  was  disappointed.  He  felt,  indeed,  as  if  she 
had  gone  to  the  club  on  purpose  to  evade  him.  But 
this  feeling  passed. 

Presently  Hewitt  decided  to  write  her  a  note.  He 
selected  a  box  of  stationery  with  care.  It  must  be 
white,  but  he  had  difficulty  deciding  between  the  square 


CASTE  THREE  273 

and  conventional  club  envelopes.  He  eventually 
bought  the  conventional  variety.  He  did  n't  want  this 
affair  of  writing  a  note  to  seem  too  studied. 

The  first  note  he  composed,  Hewitt  wrote  pains- 
takingly. The  writing,  upon  examination  at  comple- 
tion, was  deplorably  neat  and  unlike  his  usual  sprawl- 
ing, broad-lined  hand.  The  expression  was  stiff  and 
formal.  It  might  have  been  addressed  to  Mrs.  Patton 
or  Mrs.  Lombard  —  well,  not  quite  that,  but  it  was 
formal.  He  tore  it  into  small  pieces  and  deposited 
them  carelessly  in  a  waste-paper  basket  by  Mr.  Smith's 
desk,  and  then,  feeling  that  it  was  too  conspicuous  by 
reason  of  the  smallness  of  the  bits,  tore  up  an  old  letter 
in  the  basket  and  spread  the  pieces  over  the  first. 

Incidentally,  Hewitt  did  some  work  for  Mr.  Smith's 
store,  his  salary  demanding  such  service.  Then  he 
went  back  to  the  note  again. 

Hewitt  had  long  before  seen  that  Mary  was  prima- 
rily interested  in  him  because  he  had  intellectual  tend- 
encies. Had  he  arrived  as  a  stranger  in  Alston,  with 
no  claims  to  distinction  as  a  thinker,  he  would  have 
been  ignored  by  Mary.  He  did  not  feel  slighted  by 
this  knowledge;  all  the  world  was  distinctive  by  ac- 
complishment or  inheritance,  and  was  admired  for 
that  distinctiveness  by  others  in  the  world.  The  intel- 
lectual was  an  indissoluble  part  of  his  youthful  being. 
Mary  Young  was  indispensable  to  caste  three  because 
of  her  possession  through  inheritance  and  training  of 
a  vivid  personality.  It  was  no  more  to  his  discredit 
that  he  be  not  indispensable,  but  important,  to  Mary 


274  CASTE  THREE 

because  of  his  bias  toward  the  intellectual.  If  Mary 
valued  him  primarily  for  his  intellectualism,  and  this 
note  failed  to  show  the  quality  —  horrible! 

Hewitt  dashed  off  the  next  note  in  his  natural, 
sprawling,  broad-lined  writing,  dashes  doing  for  other 
marks  of  punctuation.  The  capitals  were  printed ;  the 
whole  was  spontaneous  looking.  It  was  thoughtless 
and  careless  in  appearance,  unworthy  of  him.  He 
slipped  this  draft  under  a  pile  of  clean  paper  and 
reached  down  a  book  for  Mrs.  Chancellor  from  the  top 
shelf. 

"  But  this  is  n't  the  Mark  Twain  he  wants,"  she 
laughed,  when  Hewitt  got  down  from  the  steps,  holding 
the  copy  of  "  Huckleberry  Finn  "  out  to  him. 

"  We  have  n't  '  Tom  Sawyer.'  Tell  her  that 's  just 
as  good." 

Hewitt  returned  to  his  writing  with  a  hidden  im- 
patience. He  had  been  standing  at  a  back  show-case, 
but  now  he  sat  down  at  Mr.  Smith's  desk  with  a  sigh 
of  relief.  By  compromising  between  the  neat  and  the 
careless,  he  finally  produced  a  note  which  was  satisfac- 
tory to  his  critical  eye.  "  Ma  Cherie/'  it  began,  that 
being  a  phrase  Hewitt  had  culled  lately  from  his  ex- 
ceedingly elementary  study  of  French. 

Ma  Cherie: 

I  wonder  if  you  are  happy  to-day  —  you  who  so  want  hap- 
piness. 

If  happiness  were  a  fruit  to  be  plucked  from  the  highest 
bough  of  a  tree,  I  would  climb  and  bring  it  down  to  lay  it 
in  the  lap  of  my  love. 


CASTE  THREE  275 

But  happiness  is  a  vegetable  in  one's  own  garden,  planted 
and  tended  by  one's  own  hands,  giving  sometimes  greatly, 
sometimes  niggardly. 

It  is  not  a  plant  easily  brought  to  fruit. 

In  such  a  garden  as  that  of  your  soul,  it  should  give 
greatly,  more  often  than  niggardly,  however. 

You  are  so  beautiful  and  splendid,  ma  Cherie, —  like  a  fine 
flower  that  a  gardener  has  brought  to  blossom  by  plucking 
away  the  other  buds  and  allowing  the  juices  of  the  plant  to 
flow  only  into  this  one. 

HEWITT. 

He  reread  this  note  with  growing  dissatisfaction. 
He  seemed  to  have  been  obsessed  by  that  garden  figure. 
One  might  think  him  the  product  of  his  father's  wishes, 
to  judge  by  that  note.  It  was  poetic  and  true,  he 
thought,  but  you  did  n't  need  to  run  an  idea  in  the 
ground  just  because  it  was  a  good  one. 

But  Hewitt  didn't  write  it  over  again.  It  —  and 
he  —  should  stand  or  fall  on  its  merits.  He  addressed 
it,  careful  to  keep  the  same  compromise  between  neat- 
ness and  carelessness  as  he  had  used  in  the  note  itself. 
He  surveyed  the  inscribed  envelope  with  critical  pride. 

When  Mr.  Smith  came  to  look  over  business  before 
going  home,  Hewitt  asked  him  if  he  might  run  down 
the  street  for  a  minute. 

"  I  want  to  attend  to  some  business,"  he  said,  half- 
abashed. 

"  Run  ahead,  Son.     I  'm  not  a  bear." 

Hewitt  walked  with  dignity  down  Meridian  Street, 
with  greater  dignity  than  usually  marked  his  carriage. 
It  was  the  result  of  his  inclination  to  run  and  a  con- 


276  CASTE  THREE 

trolling  determination  to  disregard  this  inclination, 
both  of  which  were  due  to  his  holding  his  first  love- 
letter  in  his  hand. 

The  Lombard  car  swung  into  Eleventh  Street  as  he 
was  crossing  it.  Hewitt  looked  quickly  into  it,  afraid 
lest  he  should  see  Mary  Young.  She  was  not  there, 
and  relief  released  his  taut  heart  and  allowed  it  to 
settle  again  into  place. 

At  the  telegraph-office  he  covered  his  trembling  con- 
fusion with  a  debonnair  assumption  that  sending  love- 
notes  was  an  everyday  matter  with  people,  and  es- 
pecially commonplace  to  him. 

"  Send  a  boy  with  this  note,  will  you  ?  "  he  told  the 
woman  at  the  desk,  and  placed  a  dime  on  it. 

Then  he  sauntered  out.  He  repeated  the  words  of 
the  note  to  himself  as  he  walked.  "If  happiness  were 
a  fruit  to  be  plucked  from  the  highest  branch  of  a  tree, 
I  would  climb  and  bring  it  down  to  lay  it  in  the  lap 
of  my  love."  Next  he  repeated  that  phrase  about  a 
vegetable;  — "  beautiful  and  splendid,  like  a  fine  flower 
that  a  gardener  has  brought  to  blossom  by  plucking  — " 
Hewitt's  heart  behaved  in  the  way  it  was  accustomed 
to  behave  when  he  saw  Mary.  Suddenly  he  stopped. 
"  Plucked !  "  He  had  used  that  word  twice!  He  had 
repeated  it!  The  joy  was  instantly  gone  out  of  his 
first  love-letter.  Repetition  of  a  noticeable  word! 
The  error  was  irreparable.  Mary  would  notice  it. 
Any  intellectual  would  notice  such  a  thing. 

When  he  reached  the  store,  Hewitt  was  silent  while 
he  watched  the  crowds  pass  the  windows.  He  was 


CASTE  THREE  277 

waiting  for  Mrs.  Chancellor  to  come  to  the  front  of 
the  store  so  that  he  could  go  home  to  supper.  He  had 
practically  spoiled  that  letter,  he  decided. 


"Where's  the  meat,  Hewie?"  Grace  asked  him  at 
the  door. 

Vacancy. 

"  You  did  n't  forget  that  meat,  did  you  ?  I  told  you 
at  noon,  just  as  you  got  up  from  the  table,  to  stop  at 
the  Checkered  Front  grocery  and  get  a  slice  of  ham  for 
supper,  because  I  thought  that  after  I  cooked  a  big 
dinner  to-day,  a  slice  of  ham  with  gravy  would  be 
enough  for  supper.  You  remember  that  I  told  you?  " 

Her  white  forehead,  which  always  seemed  about  to 
break  into  perspiration,  did  so  now.  She  sighed  over 
the  idiosyncrasies  of  Man,  and  wiped  her  fat  white 
hands  upon  her  apron. 

"  I  '11  go  back,"  said  Man  resignedly,  as  he  always 
is  resigned  before  the  sighing  scorn  of  Woman.  "  I 
forgot  all  about  it." 

"  It  '11  make  supper  so  late  that  you  '11  hardly  get 
back  to  the  store  on  time.  I  don't  see  why  you  don't 
remember  things.  You  get  moodier  .every  day. 
You  're  always  thinking  about  something,  but  never 
about  the  thing  you  ought  to  be  thinking  about. 
You—" 

Woman  was  maligning  the  thinker,  but  Hewitt  was 
out  of  hearing.  The  end  of  the  beautiful  week  was 
not  yet. 


278  CASTE  THREE 

Mary  called  Hewitt  up  that  night  when  the  store 
was  deserted.  She  had  loved  the  note.  He  must 
write  her  another  one  some  time.  She  was  proud  of 
being  a  flower.  This  last  remark  was  meant  to  be 
funny,  because  Mary  gurgled  into  the  telephone  as 
she  said  it.  Hewitt  was  not  amused,  however.  Those 
phrases  were  sacred,  in  a  way,  and  he  did  n't  want  her 
to  talk  about  them  so  that  other  people  could  hear  her. 
He  was  afraid  the  Trimbles  were  not  away. 

"  What  kind  of  a  flower  do  you  think  I  am?  "  she 
asked  him,  with  more  gurgling.  She  must  think  that 
awfully  funny!  So  Hewitt  decided  not  to  be  outdone 
in  a  sense  of  humor,  and  laughed  too. 

"  I  think  you  are  a  blazing  sun-flower." 

"  Oh,  no !  I  refuse  to  be.  I  want  to  be  a  rose  or 
an  —  orchid  or  something  expensive." 

"If  you  are  intent  on  expense,  I  '11  say  an  orchid, 
then.  That  fits  you." 

"  You  mean  that  I  'm  expensive?  " 

"  Rather,  I  should  imagine.  That 's  one  reason  why 
I  'm  not  going  to  marry  you." 

"  Are  there  any  others  ?  " 

"  No.     That 's  enough." 

"  I  'm  not  expensive.  I  'm  not  at  all  expensive ! 
I  'm  simple  in  my  tastes.  I  'm  a  simple  maid  with  a 
few  desires.  I  could  put  that  in  a  song,  could  n't  I  ? 
*  A  simple  maid  with  few  desires.'  It  sounds  like 
poetry,  I  think." 

"  You  are  a  song." 

"  You  're  making  fun  of  me.     Please,  will  you  write 


CASTE  THREE  279 

me  another  note  some  time?     And  make  me  a  song?  " 

"  Yes,"  he  said  very  low  into  the  mouthpiece,  his 
voice  full  of  significance. 

"  Good-night,"  came  faintly,  reluctantly. 

Hewitt  was  angry  when  a  young  manufacturer  who 
had  shown  evidence  of  having  ideas  during  a  conversa- 
tion earlier  in  the  spring  came  in  to  buy  some  news- 
papers. He  was  a  young  man  "  with  a  head,"  that 
term  representing  to  Hewitt  the  highest  praise  he  could 
bestow  on  a  fellow  human  being;  but  who  wants  a 
mood  of  quiet  ecstasy,  generated  by  speech  with  Mary 
Young,  to  be  broken  into  by  any  young  man's  conver- 
sation, head  or  no  head? 

"  Fine  day,"  said  the  young  manufacturer,  pausing 
before  he  went  out. 

"  Mighty  fine,"  assented  Hewitt,  examining  a  bottle 
of  ink  on  the  counter  and  wondering  who  under 
heaven  had  left  it  there,  and  then  remembering  that 
he  had  left  it  there  himself. 

"  I  suppose  you  have  n't  made  any  arrangements  for 
building  a  skyscraper  across  the  street  where  that  res- 
taurant and  shoe-shining  shop  are?  "  the  manufacturer 
continued,  ready  to  break  into  a  laugh  when  Hewitt 
showed  appreciation  of  this  thrust. 

"  No.  I  thought  I  'd  let  you  build  a  park,  and  if  I 
liked  the  fishing,  I  'd  change  my  plans  about  sky- 
scrapers," said  Hewitt,  but  there  was  no  invitation  to 
continue  the  discussion. 

"  Well,  we  '11  see,"  smiled  the  man,  and  walked  out, 
scanning  the  head-lines  of  his  paper. 


CHAPTER  XV 

THE  beautiful  week  did  end,  of  course. 
It  ended  on  Saturday  afternoon.  Hewitt  was 
working  hard,  because  there  was  always  a  rush  on  the 
last  day  of  the  week  when  the  country  people  surged 
into  Alston  to  buy  anything  from  a  shoe  to  a  tooth, 
the  latter  from  the  advertising  dentists  who  had  "  par- 
lors "  in  the  building  next  to  the  best  drug-store. 
Saturday,  consequently,  was  not  Hewitt's  best  think- 
ing day.  He  was  driven  to  action  by  necessity,  and 
his  mind  became  muddled  with  impressions,  distinct 
among  which  was  a  wavering  line  of  customers  who 
were  definite  or  indefinite  in  their  demands,  according 
as  they  were  positive  or  passive  of  temperament.  He 
hated  Saturdays  with  an  awful  hat/ed,  although  no 
one,  to  observe  his  smile  and  his  readiness  for  service, 
would  have  guessed  the  blackness  of  mood  that  lay  be- 
hind it. 

During  the  afternoon,  when  the  store  was  most 
crowded,  Ernestine  Smith  ran  in  the  door  and  went 
back  to  her  father.  She  did  not  wait  for  him  to  finish 
with  his  customer,  but  burst  into  the  middle  of  the 
transaction. 

"  Daddy,  we  want  to  use  the  gasoline  car  this  after- 
noon! Katherine  Miller  has  a  guest  from  Chicago, 

280 


CASTE  THREE  281 

and  we  are  going  to  drive  over  to  Marion  for  dinner. 
You  call  for  my  '  electric,'  if  you  want  a  car,  will 
you?  " 

Mr.  Smith,  in  his  usual  role  of  doting  parent,  did 
not  mind  using  the  '  electric,'  and  Ernestine  was  off 
through  the  open  door  to  the  car  outside.  In  it 
Hewitt  could  see  Katherine  and  some  other  girls  — 
and  Mary  Young !  After  the  first  glance  he  had  eyes 
only  for  Mary.  She  wore  a  drooping  black  hat  and 
a  dark  suit.  She  was  leaning  forward  to  talk  to  a 
girl  who  must  be  the  guest,  and  her  eyes  were  eager. 
Here  was  another  person  to  impress!  This  idea 
popped  into  Hewitt's  mind,  but  he  thrust  it  out  again. 
He  refused  to  be  disloyal  to  wonderful  Mary. 

She  did  not  look  in,  though  he  was  consumed  with 
a  desire  to  have  her  do  so.  She  was  still  leaning 
forward  eagerly  when  the  car  went  off. 

Hewitt  turned  back  to  his  work  with  a  sinking  heart. 
The  world  was,  after  all,  a  bleak  affair,  where  one 
wanted  and  wanted,  and  only  found  a  crumb  here 
and  there.  What  did  he  want?  Well,  just  now  he 
wanted  to  be  out  of  a  beastly  town  where  a  leisure 
class,  intent  upon  amusing  itself,  flung  its  leisurely 
enjoyment  into  your  face  and  made  you  feel  like  a 
worm  whose  work  was  useless,  whose  existence  was 
unimportant.  "  A  person  of  no  importance,"  he 
paraphrased  from  Wilde,  with  a  tinge  of  bitterness. 

Thinking  had  then  to  give  away  to  action,  because 
a  doctor  wanted  to  order  a  new  book  and  a  woman 
in  a  lacy  hat  with  a  vacuous  smile  under  it,  wanted 


282  CASTE  THREE 

a  fifty-cent  box  of  pink  stationery.  Hewitt  had  a 
notion  to  ask  her  whether  she  did  not  know  that  real 
women  did  not  use  pink  stationery  in  their  corres- 
pondence, women,  that  is,  who  counted,  women  like 
Mary  Young.  Yes,  after  all,  Mary  was  the  one  who 
counted.  And  what  was  she?  A  clever  woman  who 
chose  to  amuse  herself.  That  was  what  Hewitt's 
ideals  of  Woman  had  come  to.  All  other  women  who 
worked  and  strove  and  thought  —  they  had  receded 
unadmired  into  the  background.  Mrs.  Chancellor,  his 
fellow-clerk,  whose  husband  was  dead  —  Grace  knew 
all  about  how  he  had  died,  with  not  a  thing  to  eat 
in  the  house  at  the  time  —  worked  all  day  and  every 
day,  with  no  prospect  of  a  pause  in  her  labor,  to  sup- 
port herself  and  her  little  girl.  She  washed  and  ironed 
at  night,  and  sewed  when  she  could  get  a  minute  from 
her  work  at  the  store.  Mrs.  Chancellor  he  had  come 
to  regard  as  a  very  commonplace  woman  who  did  not 
count.  Grace,  the  soul  of  loyalty  to  everything  bear- 
ing the  name  of  Stevenson,  did  not  count.  Women 
who  worked  for  art  or  social  reform  or  charity  or 
families  or  any  ideal  did  not  count.  No  one  counted, 
except  leisure-class,  parasitic  Mary  Young! 

A  parasite  on  society.  That  was  what  she  was. 
So  was  Ernestine  Smith  and  Katherine  Miller  and 
Charlotte  Hendricks  and  every  other  young  girl  in  Al- 
ston who  cared  about  nothing  in  the  world  except 
amusement.  They  spent  all  their  days  and  nights 
amusing  themselves,  or  resting  up  so  that  they  might 
continue  to  amuse  themselves.  Society  in  the  large 


CASTE  THREE  283 

could  go  hang,  for  all  these  young  caste  three  women 
cared!  They  were  selfish,  egotistic,  yet  without  the 
brains  to  be  egoistic ! 

Again  business  put  a  temporary  stop  to  Hewitt's 
thought. 

The  week  beautiful  was,  indeed,  ending. 

No  person  should  count  who  did  not  help  in  the 
world's  work.  Altruism  was  an  advance  over  selfish- 
ness. Yet  these  parasites  —  how  he  grew  to  love 
that  word !  —  hardly  knew  the  meaning  of  altruism. 
They  were  the  sort  who  had  been  sucking  the  good 
out  of  society  and  putting  nothing  back  for  genera- 
tions of  idlers!  They  were  the  same  sort  of  pluto- 
crats who  had  lived  off  the  toil  of  generations  of 
sweat-shop  workers  of  one  kind  or  another  since 
society  became  specialized  enough  to  sustain  a  pluto- 
cracy. That  their  sustenance  was  derived  from  their 
fathers'  unsweated  businesses  —  as  Ernestine's  was 
—  had  no  bearing,  as  far  as  Hewitt  was  concerned. 
Some  one  paid  for  what  they  spent  in  leisure.  Some 
one  had  to  work  harder,  in  order  that  they  might  have 
leisure.  That  was  the  law. 

Mary  Young  was  even  worse  than  the  others.  She 
did  n't  have  enough  money  to  entirely  pay  her  own 
way;  she  stayed  in  caste  three  by  flattering  the  back- 
bone of  the  caste,  by  being  eager  and  zestful  and 
putting  value  on  what  they  possessed  by  her  interest 
in  it,  by  making  others  think  themselves  indispensable 
to  her  and  by  proving  that  she  was  indispensable  to 
them.  Here  was  parasitism  of  the  worst  order! 


284  CASTE  THREE 

Writhing  with  denunciations,  Hewitt  nearly  lost 
a  sale. 

The  world  was  a  beastly  mess,  anyway.  People 
who  had  clever  heads  got  on.  Work  wasn't  going 
to  get  a  man  anywhere,  unless  it  were  science,  where 
you  dealt  with  nature,  which  had  n't  any  illusions 
to  be  rilled  with  air  of  man's  making.  Cleverness 
was  all  that  counted!  The  people  who  were  deter- 
mined to  help  society  help  itself  didn't  get  on  in  a 
worldly  way.  They  —  the  scientists,  artists,  edu- 
cators, and  scholars  —  gave  their  lives  and  received 
a  kick,  like  as  not.  A  superintendent  of  schools  in 
a  nearby  town  the  size  of  Alston  had  committed 
suicide  the  week  before.  Mr.  Smith  had  known  him. 

"  Fine  man.  Gave  his  life  for  that  school  system. 
And  what  did  he  get  out  of  it?  They  kicked  him 
into  the  wall  when  they  got  the  chance."  So  Mr. 
Smith  had  spoken  in  wrath.  A  biologist  whom  Mr. 
Woody  knew  had  spent  his  life  in  studying  South 
American  fish,  with  the  purpose  of  attempting  to  put 
another  link  in  the  evolutionary  theory.  He  lived 
with  five  children  on  a  sum  which  Mr.  Smith  would 
have  considered  a  mere  pittance  for  two.  And  be- 
cause he  was  a  professor  in  a  university,  he  had  to  keep 
up  an  appearance  of  living  respectably. 

Some  day  the  world  would  find  out  that  men  who 
fooled  them  or  built  railroads  for  them  or  cornered 
their  food  supply  were  not  such  men  as  those  who  gave 
their  lives  and  energies  to  society  without  adequate 
pay.  The  world,  as  Hewitt  saw  it  on  that  Saturday 


CASTE  THREE  28? 

afternoon  at  the  end  of  the  beautiful  week,  was  a 
vast  conglomeration  of  mediocre  people  who  wor- 
shipped other  mediocre  people  who  supplied  them  with 
ideals  of  material  gain.  Money,  money,  money!  It 
was  a  grand  old  world.  The  brilliant  people  who  did 
worthwhile  things?  The  Lord  save  them;  the 
mediocre  people  surely  would  n't.  It  paid,  then,  to 
pitch  into  life  and  take  what  you  wanted.  Grab 
everything  in  sight! 

This  train  of  thought  left  Hewitt  hot  and  exhausted. 
He  made  the  world's  ingratitude  a  personal  matter, 
as  though  he  had  done  something  to  deserve  gratitude 
and  then  had  n't  received  it.  In  calmer  moments  he 
knew  that  scientists  and  scholars  and  artists  and  public 
servants  have  joys  the  masses  know  not  of,  but  these 
moments  at  the  end  of  the  beautiful  week  were  not 
notably  calm.  They  might  be  called  stormy  moments, 
and  Mary,  the  cause  of  this  distaste  for  a  materialistic 
world,  continued  to  be  joyful  in  the  Smiths'  car. 
Hewitt  could  follow  her  in  his  mind's  eye  between 
spurts  of  work. 

:<  Yon  Cassius  looks  like  some  one  I  know,"  said 
a  voice  that  sounded  familiar. 

Hewitt  whirled  around.  Kenneth  Reed  was  com- 
ing toward  him. 

"  Why  so  lean  and  hungry,  like  any  Caesar's  ghost?  " 

Hewitt  lost  some  of  his  melancholy  and  became 
more  un-Cassius-like. 

"  Gee,  I  'm  glad  to  see  you,  Reed !  Sit  down  until 
I  can  get  rid  of  this  approaching  customer." 


286  CASTE  THREE 

"  I  can't  sit  down ;  I'm  in.  a.  hurry.  I  'm  in  this 
town  for  one  hour  between  trains.  I  'm  then  off  on 
the  '  traction '  for  the  north  of  this  grand  old  Hoosier 
state.  Thence  to  Chicago.  What  shall  I  tell  Paul 
and  his  wife?  " 

"  Tell  them  I  wish  —    No,  don't." 

"Who's  kicked  you  now?" 

"  Nobody,  but  this  town  palls  on  one." 

"Sure.     How's  Mary  Young?" 

"  She  and  the  Alston  elite  are  out  amusing  them- 
selves." Sarcasm  would  creep  in,  despite  Hewitt. 

"  Don't  be  harsh,  boy.  What  do  you  expect  young 
ladies  to  do?  Not  to  work  and  spoil  their  com- 
plexions, I  hope? " 

Hewitt  laughed,  and  suddenly  became  ashamed  of 
his  labels  of  parasite  and  egotist.  A  beautiful  woman 
might  be  her  own  excuse  for  existing.  There 
would  n't  be  much  use  in  having  everybody  with  a 
decent  amount  of  work  and  leisure,  if  there  were  n't 
people  like  Mary  in  the  world  to  make  life  jolly  after- 
wards. 

"  But  look  here,  brother,"  Reed  continued,  when  the 
customer  had  left,  "  don't  fall  in  love  with  Mary 
Young.  She  's  not  your  kind,  and  she  's  been  in  the 
game  enough  years  to  take  what  she  wants  without 
caring  who  's  hurt.  So  stay  out  of  the  woods,  even 
if  you  do  have  a  little  gun  you  think  is  pretty  good. 
D'you  hear?" 

Hewitt  looked  up  quickly  from  the  box  he  was 
unpacking.  Immediately  he  returned  to  his  work,  to 


CASTE  THREE  287 

cover  the  flush  that  he  could  feel  rising  in  his  cheeks. 
He  wanted  to  tell  Reed  to  mind  his  own  business, 
but  telling  him  would  give  away  the  fact  that  he  had 
fallen  in  love  with  Mary  Young.  So  he  kept  on  with 
the  box  until  he  felt  himself  growing  calm  again. 

When  he  arose,  brushing  his  palms  against  one  an- 
other, he  pulled  Reed's  head  forward  in  great  good 
humor  and  laughed. 

"  Don't  worry  about  Mary,  old  sour  grapes.  Bet 
you  're  in  love  with  her  yourself." 

"  You  're  off  the  track."  Reed  examined  Hewitt 
with  a  frown.  Then  he  laughed.  "  We  all  have 
to  learn,"  he  said  with  a  grin.  "  I  'm  off,"  he  added 
soon  after.  "  Well,  this  life  and  the  next  one,  maybe. 
So  long,  Stevenson." 

Hewitt  watched  him  stride  down  Meridian  Street 
toward  the  traction  station. 

Recommendations  to  save  ourselves,  even  when  the 
danger  is  imminent  and  discernible,  are  likely  to  be 
de  trop. 

After  supper  he  composed  another  note  to  Mary. 

Alston  is  very  black  to-day,  because  you  are  not  in  it.  I 
suppose  they  hardly  need  any  electric-lights  in  Marion  to- 
night. 

To  me,  you  are  the  sun  and  the  moon  and  the  seven  stars. 

I  hope  you  are  happy.  If  you  are  not,  call  to  me  and  I 
will  come,  like  David  the  shepherd  boy,  when  the  devils  en- 
tered into  Saul.  My  harp  will  be  magic,  because  I  am  play- 
ing to  you.  YOUR  DEVOTEE. 

P.  S.  Didn't  you  think  to  look  into  Smith's  this  after- 
noon? 


288  CASTE  THREE 

Hewitt  decided  to  send  this  note  by  mail.  A  mes- 
senger would  get  to  the  Trimble  house  before  Mary 
arrived  home,  he  was  afraid.  He  put  it  in  his  pocket. 
On  further  thought,  however,  he  decided  to  go  to  a 
florist's  shop  and  send  it  with  some  flowers.  In  tre- 
pidation he  chose  a  corsage  bouquet  of  roses  and  sweet 
peas. 

"  Don't  send  them  until  after  nine,"  he  said.  "  Oh, 
yes,"  he  added,  with  an  elaborate  effect  of  careless- 
ness, "  put  this  note  in  with  them." 

After  that  the  world  seemed  less  the  haunt  of  the 
mediocre  idealizing  the  mediocre  and  more  a  normal 
state  where  you  got  some  of  the  things  you  wanted, 
if  you  played  the  game  with  enough  skill.  You  prob- 
ably wanted  too  much,  anyway. 

Mary  thanked  him  for  the  flowers  with  a  note. 

You  are  a  sweet  boy  to  send  Mary  the  corsage.  She  is 
wearing  it  to-day  to  dinner.  It  looks  boo'ful !  The  note 
was  boo'ful,  too. 

I  am  so  sorry  I  forgot  to  look  in.  We  were  in  such  a 
hurry,  and  Katherine  had  a  guest. 

MARY. 

Hewitt  folded  this  in  his  pocket,  and  wore  it  out 
with  reading.  There  was  no  word  in  it  of  when  he 
was  to  see  her  again. 

The  next  week,  when  he  had  gone  three  days  with- 
out seeing  her,  he  wrote  another  letter. 

Mary: 

Where  are  the  sun  and  the  moon  and  the  seven  stars? 
David  plays  to  himself  on  a  harp  which  gives  forth  only 


CASTE  THREE  289 

dull  music.  It  is  not  a  magic  harp,  because  Saul  has  never 
listened  to  its  notes.  "  Where  is  Saul  ? "  David  calls  out 
in  anguish,  and  "  Where  is  Saul  ?  "  comes  back  the  echo. 

No  reply  came  to  this  note.  Hewitt  learned  in- 
directly, through  Mr.  Smith,  that  Mary  was  assisting 
Ernestine  in  giving  a  series  of  parties  at  the  Country 
Club. 

"  We  've  had  a  house  full  of  people  for  a  week, 
dumn  it!"  said  Mr.  Smith  one  morning.  "I  wish 
all  the  men  in  this  state  who  have  young  daughters 
would  keep  them  at  home." 

Despite  this  outburst,  however,  he  told  Hewitt  one 
noon,  after  he  had  appeared  in  the  morning  in  his 
best  suit  and  hat  and  a  clean,  unspotted  vest,  with  a 
new  black  ribbon  on  his  glasses,  that  he  would  not  be 
back  until  late. 

"  Luncheon  at  the  Grand.  I  'm  giving  it,"  he 
added,  jerking  his  glasses  the  length  of  their  cord. 
"  They  may  leave  now,  Son  —  these  dumn  guests  of 
Ernestine's.  Don't  ever  have  guests,  Hewitt.  Or  a 
daughter,  either.  They  're  unhandy.  They  want  you 
to  do  things  you  don't  want  to." 

The  three  days  lengthened  into  two  weeks,  and  still 
Hewitt  had  not  seen  Mary.  The  Smith  guests  had  all 
gone  to  their  respective  homes,  to  Mr.  Smith's  ex- 
pressed delight.  Hewitt  wondered  if  Mary  had  gone 
away,  and  just  as  he  had  decided  that  this  conclusion 
was  correct,  she  came  into  the  store  with  Katherine 
Miller.  They  wanted  bridge  score-cards,  original 
ones,  if  Smith's  had  any,  Katherine  said,  without 


290  CASTE  THREE 

seeming  to  remember  that  she  had  ever  been  intro- 
duced to  Hewitt.  Mary  smiled  at  him  and  went  on 
talking  to  Katherine. 

"  I  do  wish  we  had  sent  to  Chicago.  There 's  a 
little  shop  on  Michigan  Avenue  where  you  can  get  the 
dearest  ones.  Hand-painted,  you  know.  Prettier 
than  the  ones  Mildred  Patton  got  in  Indianapolis  last 
week." 

"  I  '11  send  for  some  next  time,"  Katherine  said. 
"  I  '11  take  a  dozen  of  these,"  she  added  to  Hewitt. 

He  was  slow  in  wrapping  them. 

"  How  's  Hewitt?"  Mary  asked,  when  he  handed 
the  package  to  them. 

"  All  right,"  he  said  listlessly. 

When  they  had  disappeared  down  the  street,  he 
walked  to  the  back  door  and  stood  looking  into  the 
alley.  A  rural  mail-delivery  wagon  was  drawing  up 
at  the  back  door  of  the  post-office.  A  bearded  old  man 
climbed  out  and  exchanged  jocularities  with  a  loafer 
on  the  steps.  Disagreeable  smells  from  a  restaurant 
on  Eleventh  Street  permeated  the  air.  The  smell  of 
cooking  onions  came  to  Hewitt.  He  hated  it. 
Through  the  trees  on  the  lawn  next  to  the  post-office 
he  could  see  some  wagons  trundling  along,  and  a  girl 
was  talking  to  a  young  man  on  the  sidewalk.  Some 
children  bumped  a  hoop  into  them,  and  ran  off  without 
seeming  to  care. 

The  air  was  warm,  and  a  gust  of  wind  brought  a 
stronger  scent  of  cooking  onions.  They  smelled 
awful!  Hewitt  sat  down  on  a  low  table  back  of 


CASTE  THREE  291 

Mr.  Smith's  desk.  Those  onions  made  him  sick. 
He  grew  white  about  the  mouth  and  a  pained  look 
deepened  in  his  eyes.  Things  took  to  swimming  be- 
fore him. 

He  presently  decided  to  go  around  to  the  drug- 
store on  Eleventh  Street  and  get  something  to  quiet 
his  churning  stomach,  but  when  he  tried  to  get  up, 
everything  turned  black  and  he  had  to  sit  down  again. 
He  leaned  his  head  on  his  hand  and  wished  he  had 
some  cold  ice-water,  with  lemon. 

"What's  the  matter,  Son?"  Mr.  Smith  asked, 
when  he  came  back  to  his  desk.  "  Not  sick,  are  you? 
You  'd  better  go  home.  What  can  I  get  for  you  ? 
You  look  white  as  a  sheet.  Mrs.  Chancellor,  come 
here !  Do  something  for  this  boy.  He  looks  like  he  's 
going  to  faint!  " 

Mrs.  Chancellor  sent  Mr.  Smith  to  the  drug-store 
and  bathed  Hewitt's  face  in  cold  water,  though  he 
resented  this  sturdily  and  wanted  to  be  let  alone. 

"  I  'm  all  right,"  he  kept  saying.  "  I  '11  go  home  in 
a  minute.  I  'm  all  right.  Don't  bother." 

Mr.  Smith  brought  the  iced  liquid  the  prescription 
clerk  had  prepared  for  him. 

"Drink  this,  boy!"  he  roared,  as  gently  as  any 
sucking  dove,  and  mopped  his  forehead  and  might 
have  been  sick  himself,  to  judge  from  the  worried 
look  on  his  face. 

Mrs.  Chancellor  held  Hewitt's  head. 

"  I  always  —  have  these  —  spells,"  he  said  in- 
distinctly, "  in  hot  weather  —  sometimes." 


292  CASTE  THREE 

He  opened  his  eyes  to  drink  the  liquid  they  gave 
him,  and  then  lay  back  against  the  desk  and  closed 
his  eyes. 

"  It  was  —  those  —  onions !  "  he  murmured  apolo- 
getically. "The  smell  always  —  makes  me  sick." 

"  You  'd  better  sit  still  for  a  while,"  Mrs.  Chan- 
cellor said  in  her  gentle  voice. 

"  I  '11  send  for  the  car.  I  '11  take  you  home,"  said 
Mr.  Smith,  still  mopping.  "  Dumn  it!  If  I  didn't 
think  he  was  going  to  faint !  " 

"  I  'm  all  right,"  Hewitt  reiterated,  trying  to  sit  up 
and  making  a  bad  job  of  it.  "  I  'm  not  going  home, 
Mr.  Smith.  It  was  kind  of  you  to  send  for  the  car, 
but  I  '11  be  all  right  in  a  minute." 

"  He  is  better,"  said  Mrs.  Chancellor,  as  Hewitt  sat 
down  in  a  chair  by  the  door,  where  the  air  was  cooler. 

"  H  'm,"  Mr.  Smith  said.  "  He  looked  pretty  sick 
to  me  for  a  while." 

"  He  was  sick." 

The  next  day  Mary  Young  called  Hewitt  over  the 
telephone. 

"  Ernestine  said  that  her  father  was  awfully  worried 
about  you  yesterday.  Were  you  dreadfully  ill  ?  Was 
that  the  reason  you  were  so  haughty  when  I  came  in 
with  Katherine?" 

"  I  was  n't  so  very  ill.  Mr.  Smith  exaggerated. 
He  'd  never  seen  me  have  one  of  those  spells  before. 
I  wasn't  haughty  with  you." 

"  Yes,  you  were.  I  wanted  to  say  something,  but 
I  was  afraid  of  you.  You  are  so  terrible  when  you 


CASTE  THREE  293 

are  cross,  Hewitt!  I've  been  wanting  to  see  you 
awfully." 

A  pause  followed.  She  probably  expected  Hewitt 
to  say  something,  but  he  could  think  of  nothing  to  say. 

"  I '  ve  wanted  to  see  you,  but  I  've  been  rushed  to 
death  lately.  Everyone  has  had  guests.  Parties, 
bridge,  everything !  " 

Another  pause. 

"  Hewitt,  why  don't  you  talk  to  Mary?  "  The  in- 
timate tone  was  in  her  voice,  luring  him  to  forget 
that  she  had  neglected  him.  "  I  'm  saying  everything 
that 's  being  said." 

"What  is  there  to  say?"  Hewitt  asked  helplessly. 
He  was  still  feeling  the  effects  of  the  sudden  sickness 
of  the  day  before. 

"  A  million  things.  You  have  n't  written  me  a  note 
in  ages.  I  Ve  wanted  one.  Have  you  been  ill  be- 
fore?" 

"  No ;  just  yesterday.     It  was  the  heat.     I  — " 

"  I  thought  perhaps  that  was  why  you  had  n't  called 
me  up."  She  was  loathe  to  refer  to  this  neglect,  her 
voice  said. 

He  had  not  called  her  up.  He  had  been  waiting  for 
a  sign  from  her.  One  rather  expected  Mary  to  take 
the  initiative.  Hewitt  did,  at  any  rate.  And  the  un- 
dercurrent persistently  ran  through  his  thought  that 
she  had  not  wanted  him,  or  she  would  have  made  the 
signal. 

"  I  was  afraid  you  were  too  busy  for  me,"  he  said. 
"  I  was  afraid  you  might  not  want  to  see  me." 


294  CASTE  THREE 

"  Hewitt !  I  always  want  to  see  my  friends,  when 
I  can.  When  are  you  going  to  tell  me  about  all  the 
new  books  you  have  discovered  ?  " 

"  Whenever  you  say." 

"  Let 's  see.  To-night 's  bridge  at  the  Brandons'. 
To-morrow  I  'm  out  to  dinner.  The  next  day  — 
You  may  come  then." 

"  I  'd  like  to  come." 

So,  after  all,  there  were  to  be  other  beautiful  weeks 
—  perhaps. 

Hewitt  could  hear  the  Trimble  children  racing 
through  the  upper  hall  when  he  arrived  there  on  the 
appointed  night.  Dr.  Jimmy  stopped  on  the  veranda 
to  talk  to  him  about  business  conditions. 

"  The  Democrats  don't  seem  to  have  brought  that 
panic  all  the  calamity  howlers  expected,  do  they  ?  I  'm 
disappointed.  I  always  like  people  to  get  what  they 
want.  It  struck  me  that  a  good  many  people  wanted 
that  panic,  just  to  show  what  good  prophets  they 
were." 

"  Soon  there  won't  be  such  a  thing  as  a  panic. 
We  're  just  finding  out  these  days  that  they  are  not 
necessary,"  Hewitt  answered. 

"  Country  used  to  go  to  smash,  figuratively  speak- 
ing, every  time  the  administration  changed,  especially 
when  the  good  old  moneyed  Republicans  went  out," 
Dr.  Jimmy  laughed. 

Hewitt  opened  the  screen  door  for  Mary,  who  was 
coming  downstairs,  her  slender,  lithe  figure  lighted  up 


CASTE  THREE  295 

by  the  glow  from  the  rose  piano-lamp.  Wonderful 
Mary! 

The  chill  which  had  been  over  his  emotions  ever 
since  he  had  last  seen  her  under  conditions  favorable 
to  him  evaporated  into  thin  air.  Again  the  sun  and 
the  moon  and  the  seven  stars  were  bright,  and  he 
forgot  about  women  who  counted.  There  was  only 
one  who  counted. 

"  Politics?  "  she  questioned,  giving  him  her  best, 
most  brilliant  smile.  "Jimmy  adores  finding  some 
one  who  will  listen  respectfully  to  his  political  theories. 
I  suppose  you  did  —  out  of  politeness." 

The  noise  of  the  children  upstairs  died  away,  and 
the  doctor  went  to  his  office.  Mary  bound  the  chains 
fast  again.  They  were  not  difficult  to  bind. 

The  only  people  in  one's  life  who  really  counted, 
after  all,  were  the  charming,  beautiful  women  who 
understood  you.  Hewitt  did  not  attempt  to  be  silly; 
he  was  just  thankful  again  to  be  smiled  at  and  per- 
suaded into  saying  the  things  he  wanted  to  say. 
There  was  no  forest,  as  Kenneth  Reed  had  said,  con- 
taining a  vampirish  Mary  "  who  knew  the  game  "  and 
was  not  Hewitt's  kind,  no  little  inefficient  gun  in 
Hewitt's  hand.  In  a  flowery  meadow  a  nymph  piped 
to  the  gods;  and  a  hairy  satyr,  ugly  and  unworthy, 
creeping  in,  listened,  was  enthralled,  went  near,  until, 
entrapped  by  the  music  meant  for  gods,  he  lay  in  the 
grasses  and  was  happy  not  to  be  driven  away. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

OTHER  beautiful  weeks  which  followed  were  not 
so  bright  as  the  first.  Such  weeks  are  never  as 
bright  as  the  first  Besides,  Hewitt  was  deprived  of 
self-confidence.  He  was  afraid.  Mary  had  for- 
gotten him  once.  At  any  moment  she  might  do  so 
again.  She  did  know  the  game. 

Knowing  that  his  claim  on  her  attention  had  from 
the  first  rested  on  his  being  an  ugly  duckling  among 
Alston's  barn-yard  fowls,  a  duckling  who  might 
eventually  prove  to  be  a  soaring  eagle,  Hewitt  played 
this  card  with  all  the  skill  he  could  muster.  But  he 
was  never  very  skilful  where  people  were  concerned. 

"  Naturally  we  are  all  selfish.  Altruism  is  so  hard 
to  attain,  because  all  our  primary  instincts  are  for 
saving  ourselves  at  whatever  cost.  Let  us,  you  and 
I,  take  altruism  for  our  own,"  he  wrote  Mary. 

"  Love  is  an  ideal.  It  is  something  to  strive  for. 
It  only  comes  to  those  who  strive,"  he  wrote  again. 

"  Living  is  a  fine  art.  Most  people  make  it  a  sordid 
business.  I  love  you  because  you  know  it  is  an  art, 
even  while  you  are  unable  to  make  it  what  you  desire. 
To  live  fully  —  that  is  beautiful!  But  sometimes  I 
think,  dear,  that  you  think  you  are  living  fully,  when 
in  reality  you  are  only  skimming  the  surface  of  ex- 
citement." 

296 


CASTE  THREE  297 

All  the  time,  unselfish  as  he  was  on  occasion  and 
always  wished  to  be,  Hewitt  knew  that  he  wanted 
something  besides  making  Mary  live  to  the  limit  of 
her  capacities.  He  wanted  to  dominate  her  thought. 
Sometimes  he  felt  he  had  succeeded.  At  unexpected 
moments  she  showed  that  she  had  been  thinking  about 
something  he  had  said  or  read  to  her  long  before. 
At  others  he  was  certain  that  he  had  never  dented 
the  smooth  surface  of  her  knowing  mind.  Her 
thoughts  seemed  to  flow  in  the  old  grooves,  the  grooves 
that  generations  of  caste  three  had  made,  changed  by 
new  lands  and  new  environments,  but  only  slightly 
changed. 

Hewitt  was  amazed  at  Mary's  inability  to  enter  into 
the  lives  of  those  outside  her  own  circle.  She  was 
splendidly  kind  and  open  to  everyone,  but  that  was 
only  because  the  ideal  of  herself  as  a  frank,  open- 
hearted,  democratic  woman  was  stronger  than  her 
ideal  of  herself  as  a  follower  of  the  rules  of  caste 
three.  As  long  as  he  remained  away  from  her, 
Hewitt  dissected  and  analyzed  her  and  her  Alstonian 
relations  with  admirable  abstraction ;  but  when  he  was 
with  her  he  lost  all  power  to  think.  He  only  wanted 
to  worship.  There  was  never  any  silliness,  no  kisses. 
Sometimes  she  caught  at  his  hand  or  patted  it,  just 
as  she  might  have  done  with  Ernestine  or  Katherine 
or  any  of  her  girl-friends. 

Hewitt's  analysis  of  Mary  became,  as  time  went  on, 
more  pronouncedly  critical  the  better  he  knew  her. 
He  began  to  see  qualities  in  her  which  he  could  not 


298  CASTE  THREE 

admire.  Moods  attacked  him.  He  became  unhappy 
and  discontented.  He  read  less,  and  dreamed  more. 
He  grew  nervous  and  fretful.  He  had  fits  of  temper 
when  he  wanted  to  argue  with  Mary  about  herself. 
She  was  n't  what  he  wanted  her  to  be ;  she  must 
change.  She  gave  too  much  of  her  time  to  Ernestine 
Smith,  for  example,  who  was  a  beastly  little  inane 
snob  not  worth  anyone's  attention.  Also,  he  disliked 
Katherine  Miller. 

He  introduced  these  topics  at  various  times  to 
Mary,  and  thought  more  than  he  talked  about  them. 

"  Don't  be  jealous,"  she  told  him  one  night,  when  he 
had  been  especially  caustic. 

"  You  don't  care  what  people  are ;  you  only  care  for 
what  they  have,"  he  retorted  bitterly. 

He  knew  the  quizzical  look  which  came  into  her  eyes 
when  she  was  annoyed  and  wanted  to  ask  him  what 
he  had. 

"  It 's  only  money !  Alston  is  money-mad,"  he 
added. 

"  Alston,  Hewitt,  is  very  much  like  every  other  city 
in  the  world.  Men  have  always  wanted  the  advan- 
tages which  money  gives  them.  Why,  even  your 
precious  old  books  could  n't  be  written  if  there  were  n't 
some  men  with  leisure.  Leisure  depends  on  money." 

"  Yes,  but  here  they  think  about  money  and  noth- 
ing else.  With  the  men  who  write,  it 's  only  a  means 
to  an  end." 

"  It 's  a  means  here,  too.  We  're  all  hunting  the 
same  thing  —  satisfaction,  happiness." 


CASTE  THREE  299 

"  But  such  happiness!  " 

"  We've  said  all  this  before,  haven't  we?  Let  us 
try  to  be  amusing,  since  we  live  in  a  town  devoted  to 
amusement." 

Mary  tried  to  make  him  laugh,  but  Hewitt  sat 
frowning  in  discontent. 

"  If  I  had  money  you  would  marry  me,  would  n't 
you  ?  "  he  said  suddenly  and  sharply.  He  knew,  even 
as  he  said  it,  that  Mary  would  not  marry  him  if  he  had 
a  million  dollars. 

"  No,"  she  answered  softly. 

"Why?"  he  demanded  angrily. 

"  For  one  reason,  you  are  too  childish."  Mary  was 
annoyed  beyond  words,  and  she  walked  into  the  house 
and  left  him  with  his  petulance. 

When  Hewitt  had  convinced  himself  that  he  was  a 
lunatic  who  had  better  watch  himself  before  he  en- 
dangered too  flagrantly  his  position,  his  cherished 
position,  as  her  friend,  he  went  into  the  house.  Mary 
was  sitting  reading  the  newspaper. 

"  Mary,  you  '11  forgive  me,  won't  you  ?  I  don't 
know  what 's  the  matter  with  me.  I  don't  know  why  I 
say  these  things  to  you.  I  'm  a  cad.  You  've  been 
wonderful  to  me." 

Perhaps  because  she  was  afraid  Hewitt  was  going  to 
be  emotional  and  cry  about  it,  Mary  let  him  sit  on  the 
stairs  and  talk  again  to  her.  He  thought  she  sighed 
wearily  when  he  left  the  veranda  later  in  the  evening. 

Another  time  Katherine  Miller  came  to  take  Mary 
riding  while  Hewitt  was  present. 


300  CASTE  THREE 

"If  Hewitt  will  come  — "  Mary  began  from  her 
place  beside  the  automobile. 

"  I  'm  awfully  sorry.  I  have  an  engagement  down- 
town at  eight-thirty,"  he  said,  rising  and  coming  down 
the  walk  toward  them.  He  glanced  nonchalantly  at  his 
watch.  "  It 's  about  that  hour  now,"  he  added. 
"  You  run  ahead,  Mary." 

Mary  had  gazed  at  him  questioningly.  She  knew 
he  had  no  engagement.  Then  she  smiled  bravely  and 
jumped  into  the  car,  with  only  a  good-bye  wave  of  her 
hand  to  him. 

Mary  punished  him  for  a  few  days,  but  a  more  than 
usually  contrite  note  softened  her. 

"  Why  did  you  behave  that  way  about  going  rid- 
ing?" she  asked  him  later. 

"  I  did  n't  want  to  go,  and  I  did  n't  want  you  to 
miss  your  fun." 

"  My  dear  boy,  do  you  think  I  value  riding  as  much 
as  that?  Why  did  n't  you  want  to  go ?  "  she  continued 
persistently. 

"  Because  I  hate  Katherine  Miller." 

"Why?" 

"  She  makes  me  feel  —  unimportant." 

"  Maybe  — "  she  began,  and  he  caught  the  innuendo 
before  she  stopped  herself. 

"  She  's  despicable !  "  he  cried  out,  paying  Katherine 
for  Mary's  thrust  by  an  increase  in  hate.  "  I  hate 
her!" 

"  You  hate  so  many  people,  dear." 

Hewitt's  fury  mounted. 


CASTE  THREE  301 

"  Not  so  many.  Only  the  ones  who  let  you  make 
fools  of  them." 

"  Hewitt!  "  Mary  said,  biting  her  lips. 

"  They  're  all  crazy  about  you,  and  you  work  them 
to  the  limit.  You  get  exactly  what  you  want  from 
people,  and  then  you  fling  them  into  the  guttter." 

The  hurt  look  that  instantly  clouded  Mary's  eyes 
brought  Hewitt  to  her  feet. 

"  I  did  n't  mean  it,  Mary !  I  —  I  don't  know 
what 's  the  matter  with  me.  I  love  you  more  than 
anyone  in  the  world,  but  I  can't  seem  to  think  any- 
thing but  ugly  things  about  you  any  more." 

"  I  'm  sorry.  I  suppose  I  'm  not  a  very  beautiful 
subject  for  thought.  You  had  better  stop  thinking 
about  me  at  all,"  she  said,  with  a  sad  smile.  "  I  don't 
like  quarreling  with  my  friends.  It 's  rather  disgust- 
ing, isn't  it  ?  " 

"It's  awful!  I  swear  I'll  never  say  mean  things 
to  you  again.  You  do  forgive  me,  don't  you?  " 

"  Yes.     Don't  get  excited.     People  can  hear  you." 

After  this  Hewitt  was  careful  for  a  time;  he 
could  n't  afford  to  take  such  risks.  But  his  thinking 
went  on.  The  idea  that  Mary  "  worked  "  people  grew 
in  him.  She  had  little  natural  charm,  he  decided ;  she 
was  merely  artful.  He  could  see  it  all.  He  composed 
notes  to  let  her  see  that  he  saw  through  her  devices 
for  keeping  people  slavishly  attached  to  her  —  notes 
in  which  veiled  insults  against  her  egotism  were 
shrouded  in  figures  of  speech  which,  even  in  the  midst 
of  his  emotion,  brought  a  glow  of  pride  to  their 


302  CASTE  THREE 

creator.  He  wrote  about  the  "  Sahara  sands  of  her 
egotism."  That  was  not  original;  he  had  read  it 
somewhere.  She  was  a  fallen  Buddha,  a  burst  bubble, 
a  bee  that  sucked  the  honey  from  a  thousand  flowers. 
There  was  nothing  delightful  now  about  this  last 
quality. 

Yet,  in  the  midst  of  his  turmoil  of  writing  these 
denunciations,  Hewitt  sneered  at  his  own  weakness 
and  called  himself  a  fool  for  having  been  taken  in 
by  the  very  qualities  which  he  now  detested.  He  had 
always  been  a  weakling.  He  had  no  power  of  action. 
Action  was  strength;  idle  thought  was  a  snare  and  a 
delusion.  He  had  idealized  Mary.  He  had  tried  to 
idealize  himself  as  a  devotee  who,  demanding  nothing 
in  return  for  his  love,  was  gaining  everything.  But 
when  put  to  the  test,  as  now,  he  wanted  returns.  He 
was  tired,  dog-tired,  of  getting  nothing  but  a  minimum 
of  attention,  just  because  he  had  no  prestige  of  riches 
and  position  to  offer  her. 

In  his  sane  moments  Hewitt  wondered  what  he  did 
want. 

As  Mary  had  said,  all  wisdom  was  not  in  books. 
A  reader,  a  reader  of  imaginative  literature,  was  sus- 
taining himself  on  unreality.  He  took  to  hating 
poetry  and  novels.  What  was  an  intellectual?  One 
who  wanted  material  things  and,  not  getting  what  he 
asked  for,  deceived  himself  and  the  world  into  think- 
ing that  he  wanted  only  the  thin  things  of  the  mind. 
Fools ! 

There   was   no   everlasting   soul,    Hewitt   decided. 


CASTE  THREE  303 

There  was  no  such  thing  as  immortality.  Those  who 
did  n't  get  what  they  wanted  on  this  earth,  because 
fate  or  their  own  silly  ideals  kept  them  from  getting 
what  everyone  wanted,  tried  to  soothe  themselves  with 
old  tales  of  another  world  where  those  who  did  n't 
get  on  in  this  one  would  achieve  success.  Fatuous 
dream  of  weak  souls!  The  battle  was  to  the  strong 
or  to  the  clever.  Even  those  wise  old  Jews,  before 
Christianity  swamped  the  world  in  its  dreams  of  a 
future  existence,  recognized  this  fact.  Follow  the 
law  of  the  wise  men,  they  said;  and  then  protected 
themselves  right  here  on  this  earth.  Theirs  was  no 
God  of  Love.  Rather  he  was  a  God  of  Effort,  who 
punished  weakness  and  abhorred  disobedience  of  law. 

Hewitt  generally  reached  this  point  at  night,  a-fter 
he  had  torn  up  a  scathing  note  couched  in  flamingly 
scorching  figures  of  speech.  He  then  wanted  to  get 
up  and  walk  around  the  room  in  order  to  relieve  the 
caged-animal  feeling  that  choked  him,  but  he  was 
always  afraid  of  waking  Grace.  She  would  be  sure 
to  come  to  his  door  in  her  night  cap  and  ugly  high- 
necked  gown,  open  it  gently,  and  ask  him,  while  blink- 
ing the  sleep  out  of  her  heavy  eyes,  what  was  the 
matter.  He  did  n't  want  Grace  to  come  in ;  so  he 
rolled  restlessly  in  his  bed  and  wondered  why  he 
had  ever  come  to  Alston  to  be  tortured  by  Mary 
Young. 

At  last  he  went  to  sleep. 

Note  after  note  Hewitt  destroyed.  He  spent  hours 
composing  them  in  his  mind,  but  his  common  sense 


304  CASTE  THREE 

always  spoke  at  the  last  minute  and  he  tore  them 
up. 

Once,   however,  his  common  sense  deserted  him. 

He  wrote  a  note  early  in  the  morning,  hurriedly 
and  excitedly,  after  he  had  spent  a  restless  night,  a 
night  sleepless  and  half-maddened  by  the  hopelessness 
of  the  circle  of  unanswerable  thought.  He  thrust  it 
into  the  box  at  the  post-office  before  he  had  time  to 
repent  of  his  folly.  He  had  a  dim  idea  that  if  Mary 
knew  how  tortured  he  was,  she  would  do  something 
about  it,  relieve  him  of  it.  She  was  paying  a  great 
deal  of  attention  to  Arthur  Morgan,  a  Yale  man  who 
was  working  in  Alston  during  the  summer.  Hewitt 
himself  was  beginning  to  mean  less  and  less  to  her, 
he  was  certain.  This  note  would  wake  her  up.  She 
would  find  that  she  must  make  some  effort  to  keep  him 
in  her  train;  she  could  not  pull  the  wool  over  his  eyes 
as  easily  as  she  thought. 

"  Thank  you,"  the  note  said  among  other  things,  "  for 
showing  me  the  clumps  of  buttercups  in  your  marsh,  but 
now  I  see  them  no  more.  Only  mud,  mud!  Not  long  ago 
I  would  have  laughed  at  all  the  little  gods,  and  said,  '  Of 
course  there  is  mud;  but  if  I  choose  to  see  only  the  flowers, 
then  I  can  laugh  at  you,  little  gods ! '  But  now  I  am  ready 
to  move  to  other  gardens,  beautiful  gardens.  You,  being 
heavy  with  mud,  cannot  move  on.  Adieu,  ma  cherie  des 
autres  jours" 

All  day  Hewitt  kept  thinking  of  Mary  reading  this. 
She  would  half -close  her  eyes  and  read  it  twice.  A 
faint  smile  would  light  up  her  face.  Then  she  would 


CASTE  THREE  305 

tear  the  note  carefully  and  throw  it  away,  supremely 
indifferent.  He  writhed  at  the  thought. 

In  other  pictures  he  saw  Mary  read  it  with  the 
smile  growing  fainter  and  fainter,  and  she  ended  by 
looking  puzzled  and  sad. 

What  Mary  did  do,  Hewitt  did  not  for  one  moment 
anticipate.  He  was  standing  at  the  stationery  counter 
the  next  afternoon  when  she  came  in. 

"  Good  afternoon,  Hewitt,"  she  said,  smiling 
brightly  at  him.  Then  she  turned  toward  Mrs.  Chan- 
cellor, who  was  standing  at  the  cash  register.  Mary 
threw  her  arm  carelessly  around  her.  "  I  want  some 
stationery,  dear.  White  or  brown.  Not  the  kind  I 
bought  last  week.  I  did  n't  like  that." 

Her  other  arm  she  threw  about  Ernestine,  and  the 
three,  without  noticing  Hewitt  further,  came  down 
to  where  he  stood.  He  moved  away.  He  went  to 
the  back  of  the  store  and  remained  there  long  after 
Mary  and  Ernestine  had  gone.  He  felt  sick  and 
weak,  dreadfully  weak,  as  though  his  legs  were  caving 
in.  Mary  had  chosen  an  excellent  way  of  hurting 
him.  She  was  a  devil ! 

Joe  Bales  was  standing  on  the  corner  when  Hewitt 
left  the  store  that  night. 

"  Hello,  Joe ! "  Hewitt  called.  He  went  up  and 
stood  beside  him,  smoking.  He  talked  about  the 
weather,  and  when  enough  time  had  passed  to  make 
his  next  remark  sound  casual,  Hewitt  said : 

"Say,  Joe.,  where  does  Eleanor  Rowe  live?" 

"Why,  didn't  you  hear?"  asked  Joe  quickly. 


3o6  CASTE  THREE 

"Hear  what?" 

"  Why  did  you  want  to  know  where  she  lived?  " 

"  I  thought  I  'd  go  see  her  sometime." 

"  Say,  boy ;  be  careful !  Did  n't  you  hear  about 
Teddy  Burke?  Her  brother's  after  him.  The 
fellows  say  that  Teddy  has  got  her  in  bad." 

Joe  said  this  last  in  a  matter-of-fact  tone,  as  he 
rolled  a  cigarette.  Corner  gossip,  Hewitt  decided,  and 
he  tried  to  be  as  matter-of-fact  as  Joe. 

"  H'm,"  he  said  in  Mr.  Smith's  style. 

"  That 's  what  they  all  say.  I  'm  glad  I  stayed 
away  from  her.  How  's  the  store?  " 

Hewitt  talked  business  for  a  while  and  then  strolled 
home.  He  felt  sorry  for  Eleanor  Rowe.  She  was 
a  credit  in  contrast  to  some  of  the  society  buds  of 
Alston.  Contrasted  with  Mary,  the  sly,  wise,  clever, 
devilish  Mary,  she  was  an  angel.  She  gave;  she  did 
not  take,  take,  take!  Mary  was  angry,  but  not  out- 
wardly angry.  She  would  continue  to  be  pleasant, 
even  cordial  to  him.  That  was  caste  three's  way. 
They  never  displayed  their  anger.  No;  but  they 
struck  hard  when  they  wanted  to  hurt. 

Presently  Hewitt  began  to  wonder  why  he  had 
written  that  note.  So  he  wrote  another  note.  He 
told  Mary  that  she  was  the  most  wonderful  woman 
in  the  world ;  that  he  was  a  jealous  brute,  jealous  about 
Arthur  Morgan;  that,  far  from  being  a  marsh,  she 
was  a  beautiful  garden  (the  garden  again)  where  he 
loved  to  walk,  satisfied  only  to  smell  the  perfume  of 
the  flowers.  He  begged  Mary's  forgiveness. 


CASTE  THREE  307 

Sending  this  note  relieved  him,  although  he  read 
and  studied  French  until  after  midnight,  trying  to 
make  himself  calm  enough  to  sleep.  Even  after  he 
had  gone  to  bed,  he  rehearsed  the  notes  over  and  over 
to  himself,  following  every  movement  of  Mary's  in 
the  store  that  afternoon.  Suppose  she  did  not  forgive 
him? 

He  got  up  and  raised  the  window  higher.  The 
night  seemed  extraordinarily  warm,  intolerably  so. 

So  he  was  to  be  punished  for  deserting  the  shrine 
and  assuming  the  role  of  critical  spectator?  Mary 
would  see  to  it  that  he  was  wounded  time  after  time, 
because  he  had  doubted  that  she  was  fit  for  worship. 
She  was  an  artist.  There  was  no  depth  to  her 
affection  for  anyone.  She  liked  everyone  who  could 
give  her  something  she  wanted.  She  had  liked  him, 
because  his  was  a  temperament  to  heap  adoration  upon 
her,  to  color  the  already  beautiful  picture  she  had 
painted  of  herself. 

Hewitt  was  wet  with  perspiration. 

For  two  nights  and  days  he  went  through  a  repe- 
tition of  this  misery,  alternately  hating  and  adoring. 
On  the  evening  of  the  third  day  he  walked  past  the 
Trimble  house,  in  hope  of  seeing  her.  She  came 
across  the  lawn  from  the  Walkers'  when  she  saw  him. 

"  I  have  n't  seen  you  in  ages,  have  I  ?  You  're 
sweet  to  come.  I  'm  staying  all  night  with  Hortense 
Brandon.  You  can  take  me  over." 

Hewitt  glowed  with  relief.  She  was,  after  all, 
going  to  forgive  him.  She  chatted  impersonally  of 


3o8  CASTE  THREE 

her  comings  and  goings.  The  Brandons  were  plan- 
ning to  motor  through  Kentucky.  Perhaps  she  would 
go  with  them.  Martha  and  the  children  were  not 
going  to  the  lakes  this  year,  since  the  weather  had 
remained  so  cool.  Charlotte  Walker  had  just  returned 
from  the  East.  On  and  on  she  talked,  with  never  a 
word  about  Hewitt  or  marshes  or  buttercups  or  mud. 

He  listened  intently,  trying  to  be  interested  and  not 
critical.  He  did  n't  care  if  Charlotte  had  been  in 
China  or  whether  the  Brandons  were  going  to  India, 
but  he  wisely  kept  this  indifference  to  himself.  He 
attempted  to  tell  her  about  a  new  book  he  wanted  her 
to  read,  but  she  had  already  heard  about  it  from  Kath- 
erine  Miller  and  did  n't  think  she  would  like  it.  She 
was  really  too  busy  to  read,  with  her  golf. 

"  I  'm  playing  so  much  better  than  last  summer. 
Aren't  you  glad,  Hewitt?" 

He  said  that  he  was.  He  was  the  beggar ;  his  part 
was  to  play  the  game,  though  he  glanced  at  her  sus- 
piciously. 

"  When  are  you  going  to  Chicago?  "  she  asked. 

"  About  the  fifth  of  September."  The  thought  of 
getting  there  had  lost  some  of  its  zest.  He  had 
stopped  thinking  much  about  Chicago. 

"You'll  love  being  in  school  again,  won't  you?" 
she  said. 

"  Oh,  I  guess  so,"  he  added  indifferently. 

"  My  dear !  "  she  chided  him.  "  The  next  thing 
you  '11  be  saying  an  education  is  useless ! "  She 
laughed  at  him. 


CASTE  THREE  309 

"  Maybe  it  is,"  he  said  lamely.  "  An  education 
does  n't  always  get  people  what  they  want.  The 
world  's  a  gamble,  anyway." 

"  Last  week  you  said  that  some  day  I  would  lose, 
because  I  gambled  with  living." 

"  No.  You  play  the  game  according  to  the  rules. 
I  can't  play  anything.  I  loathe  rules." 

"  You  play  tennis." 

"  Not  well."     Hewitt  was  gloomy. 

A  week  before  Mary  would  have  teased  him  into 
optimism,  but  to-night  she  went  back  to  gossip  about 
her  friends  in  caste  three.  All  the  way  to  the  Bran- 
dons' she  chatted  gaily. 

"  Will  you  come  in  with  me?"  she  asked,  as  they 
paused  in  front  of  the  house. 

"  You  have  n't  forgiven  me,"  he  said  in  a  low,  mis- 
erable voice. 

"Forgiven  you  for  what?"  Then  her  impersonal 
gaiety  slid  aside  and  she  looked  at  him  with  a  glint 
of  scornful  anger.  "  You  can  always  run  on  to  other 
gardens,"  she  said  as  she  turned  away. 

Hewitt  touched  her  arm. 

"  Mary,  you  know  I  did  n't  mean  that !  "  he  cried. 

"  I  am  mud  one  day  and  beautiful  buttercups  the 
next.  Don't  you  suppose  one  gets  tired  of  your  moods 
and  your  insults  and  your  tempers?  I  tried  to  be 
friends.  You  did  n't  meet  me  half-way.  I  am  sick 
of  all  this!" 

"You  never  loved  me!     I  only  wanted  that!" 

"  I  liked  you  as  much  as  I  like  anyone.     I  like  a 


310  CASTE  THREE 

great  many  people.  You  can't  be  selfish  enough  to 
want  me  to  spend  all  my  time  with  you.  I  did  like 
you.  You  have  changed.  Good-night." 

"  If  I  try  again  to  be  what  I  used  to  be?  I  don't 
know  what 's  the  matter  with  me !  Try  me  again, 
Mary!" 

"  Perhaps,"  was  all  the  satisfaction  she  gave  him. 

Hewitt  was  unable  even  to  read  that  night.  He  fol- 
lowed the  incidents  of  his  relations  with  Mary  from  the 
first  day  of  their  meeting.  Was  anyone  ever  so  mis- 
erable, through  his  own  fault,  as  he  was?  Now  he 
understood  Dante  and  Andrea  del  Sarto  and  all  other 
men  in  the  world's  history  who  had  loved  and  been 
scorned. 

He  woke  up  in  the  night.  If  he  could  only  die  and 
Mary  could  come  and  stand  over  him,  her  eyes  sorrow- 
ful and  that  sweet,  intimate  smile  on  her  lips! 


Alston  was  to  have  a  Young  Men's  Christian  Asso- 
ciation. A  recently  deceased  old  man  had  left  Alston 
funds  with  which  to  build  a  structure  to  house  the 
institution,  on  condition  that  the  city  should  raise  an 
equal  amount.  Alston  needed  a  Y.  M.  C.  A.,  every 
one  agreed.  Leading  citizens  therefore  met  to  per- 
fect plans  for  securing  this  money.  Captains  of  teams 
were  selected ;  the  war  was  on.  In  two  days  the  man 
who  had  not  subscribed  as  much  as  he  knew  everyone 
thought  he  should  subscribe  began  to  feel  uncom- 
fortable while  walking  down  the  street.  He  was 


CASTE  THREE  311 

likely  to  be  confronted  by  a  member  of  a  team,  who 
slapped  him  merrily  on  the  shoulder  and  asked  him 
for  a  few  more  thousands  or  hundreds  or  for  a  few 
more  pennies,  according  to  his  known  financial  status. 

Homer  Gray  came  into  Smith's  on  the  first  day  of 
the  campaign. 

"  Hello,  Stevenson !  "  he  called.  "  I  want  you  on 
my  team  for  this  Y.  M.  C.  A.  rush." 

Hewitt  stopped  disliking  Homer  Gray's  air  of  im- 
portance. 

"  You  're  number  ten  on  my  team.  This  '11  be  some 
pull." 

"  Look  here,  Gray,"  Hewitt  demurred,  "  I  can't 
do  anything  like  that.  I  'm  busy  all  day." 

"  Smith  will  let  you  off.  Every  public-spirited 
citizen  must  do  what  he  can.  My  team  meets  to-night 
at  five-thirty.  There  's  a  dinner  at  the  old  Knights 
of  Columbus'  rooms  at  six  for  all  teams.  Here  are 
a  bunch  of  pledges  and  a  list  of  names  of  the  persons 
you  are  to  see.  Get  people!  Don't  let  anyone  slide. 
Don't  let  any  one  get  by.  I  've  put  what  each  one  is 
expected  by  the  committee  to  give.  Get  it."  He 
slapped  Hewitt  on  the  shoulder  familiarly,  laughed, 
and  was  off,  leaving  a  stupefied  but  willing  Hewitt. 

The  list  included  ten  men  who  possibly  would  give 
more  than  a  hundred  dollars.  Fifth  on  the  list  was 
"  Charles  Stevenson,  Fourteenth  and  Jackson." 
Hewitt  stopped  to  consider.  So  that  was  why  he  had 
been  honored.  Well,  come  to  think  of  it,  there  had 
to  be  some  reason  why  any  one  should  be  honored, 


312  CASTE  THREE 

and  this  was  as  good  as  any.  Other  people  in  Alston 
were  important  because  their  fathers  had  money. 
Why  not  he? 

Mr.  Smith  agreed  to  divide  the  day  with  Hewitt. 

"  We  '11  try  alternate  hours  the  first  day,"  he  said. 
"  I  'm  captain  of  team  two.  I  wanted  you,  but  Homer 
grabbed  you  before  I  had  a  chance.  Go  to  it,  Son. 
Make  good.  Gray  said  you  were  a  pusher,  but  that 
you  had  n't  got  out  of  your  shell  here  yet.  Wake  up 
and  show  'em." 

Hewitt  did  not  feel  like  a  pusher  as  he  started  for 
Preston's  to  interview  a  young  electrical  engineer. 
"  Two  hundred  "  was  marked  beside  the  latter's  name. 
Hewitt  whistled.  He  knew  the  man  by  sight  and  that 
he  had  just  been  married.  Two  hundred?  They 
surely  could  n't  expect  men  to  give  like  that. 

John  Earle  filled  out  a  pledge  for  a  hundred  as  soon 
as  he  found  that  Hewitt  was  a  team-member. 

"Much  obliged,"  Hewitt  smiled.  He  did  not  urge 
the  other  to  give  more.  "  We  '11  do  it  yet,"  he  said, 
in  leaving. 

"Of  course  we  will.  Alston  always  comes 
through,"  Earle  answered. 

Outside,  Hewitt  pondered.  What  tactics  would 
Homer  Gray  have  used  to-get  the  other  hundred?  He 
frankly  did  not  know.  He  thought  a  hundred  dollars, 
without  arguing  for  it,  was  a  godsend. 

The  next  man,  Waldon  Kirst,  was  vice-president  and 
general  manager  of  an  iron  fence-post  company  in  the 
vicinity  of  Preston's.  Hewitt  took  him  next. 


CASTE  THREE  313 

"  Sit  down,"  ordered  Mr.  Kirst  in  stentorian  tones, 
when  Hewitt  went  into  his  office.  He  was  a  small 
man  with  nerves. 

"  I  'm  from  team  one,  Y.  M.  C.  A.  fund,"  Hewitt 
began. 

"Yes?  That's  a  great  thing,  that  Y.  M.  C.  A. 
My  boy's  getting  to  the  age  where  he  needs  it.  I  '11 
give  you  fifty  dollars."  He  turned  to  fill  out  the 
pledge. 

Hewitt  moved  uneasily.  This  man  was  down  for 
five  hundred  dollars.  He  could  n't  let  the  four  hun- 
dred and  fifty  slip.  Homer  Gray  would  think  he  was 
a  good-for-nothing. 

"  Now,  see  here,  Mr.  Kirst,"  Hewitt  said,  doubtful 
of  his  ability  to  convince,  "I  —  we  thought  you  would 
want  to  give  more  than  fifty,  even.  Fifty  's  a  nice 
sum.  We  '11  be  glad  to  get  it.  But  do  you  realize 
that  that  one  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  dollars  was 
only  left  to  Alston  on  condition  that  the  town  raise  an 
equivalent  sum?  If  we  don't  have  every  cent  of  the 
money  in  ten  days,  the  fund  goes  to  charity  and  we 
get  no  Y.  M.  C.  A.  We  have  to  get  this  sum.  You 
are  one  of  the  men  in  town  who  are  expected  to  con- 
tribute largely  in  order  to  make  up  the  money.  In  the 
end  we  can  expect  to  get  five-  and  ten-dollar  contribu- 
tions from  the  general  public,  but  the  greater  part  has 
to  be  given  by  the  big  business  men.  I  have  you  down 
for  five  hundred  dollars.  We  know  that  you  want  to 
give  what  you  can.  Five  hundred  would  mean,  Mr. 
Kirst,  that  you  are  getting  something  more  out  of 


3H  CASTE  THREE 

this  Y.  M.  C.  A.  than  mere  protection  for  your  son. 
You  would  be  helping  to  put  an  institution  in  Alston 
which  will  mean  that  hundreds  of  boys  every  year  are 
given  healthful  recreation  in  an  atmosphere  to  bring 
out  their  best  qualities.  It  means  not  only  your  boy, 
but  a  thousand  other  boys  in  the  course  of  a  few  years. 
Now,  another  thing.  Your  factory  employs  about 
how  many  men?  A  hundred  and  fifty  young  ones, 
perhaps.  Half  of  them  are  unmarried,  let  us  say. 
Seventy-five  of  your  employees  would  join  this 
Y.  M.  C.  A.  and  become  better  physical  specimens. 
Result:  more  work.  Who  gets  the  benefit?  Your 
company.  You  also  get  part  of  it.  My  suggestion, 
Mr.  Kirst,  is  that  you  give  five  hundred  dollars  or 
more,  if  you  feel  inclined,  and  that  your  company  — 
outside  capital  owns  much  of  this  concern,  does  n't  it  ? 

—  give  five  hundred.     How  's  that  ?     You  are  getting 
a  personal  benefit  and  the  company  is  getting  a  ben- 
efit." 

Hewitt  paused,  surprised  at  himself,  and  then 
blushed  a  little.  Mr.  Kirst  looked  at  him,  studying 
him. 

"  Five  hundred  dollars,"  he  said,  and  went  over  to 
examine  the  landscape  from  the  window.  He  drew 
aside  the  curtains  the  better  to  examine  the  landscape 

—  a   landscape  of   corrugated -iron   buildings   and  a 
puffing  switch-engine  and  a  vacant  lot  edged  with 
diminutive  cottages.     "  Well,"  he  said,  "  I  '11  make  it 
three  hundred."     He  was  pleased  with  himself,  but 
Hewitt  quickly  pricked  this  bubble. 


CASTE  THREE  315 

"  Mr.  Kirst,  if  every  man  in  this  town,  every  big 
man  who  is  in  a  position  to  command  money,  gives 
three  fifths  of  what  he  could  give  without  feeling  the 
pressure,  Alston  will  have  no  Y.  M.  C.  A.  Say  you 
can  give  three  hundred  without  quivering  an  eyelash. 
All  right.  Suppose  you  quiver  an  eyelash  and  give 
five  hundred."  Hewitt  smiled  Homer  Gray's  smile 
of  cordial  importance.  One  might  as  well  do  such 
things.  "  That  five  hundred  might  mean  a  trifle  in 
sacrifice  to  you.  Maybe  you  can't  go  to  the  motor- 
races  at  Indianapolis  next  year,  just  to  make  the  sacri- 
fice a  big  one."  They  both  laughed,  and  Hewitt  was 
glad  he  had  remembered  that  Kirst  was  a  motor-race 
enthusiast.  "All  right.  Alston  has  a  Y.  M.  C.  A. 
Your  boy  gains  by  it.  How  about  that  five  hundred  ?  " 

"  Let 's  see,"  mused  Mr.  Kirst. 

"  Yours  will  be  the  second  contribution  on  my  list," 
went  on  Hewitt.  "  I  'm  on  team  one.  Your  name 
will  be  published  near  the  head  of  the  first  day's  list. 
That  looks  good  for  you  and  for  the  company.  If  iron 
fence-posts  were  not  selling  well,  you  could  n't  give 
five  hundred.  Thus  it  reflects  your  prosperity." 

Walden  H.  Kirst  made  out  the  pledge  deliberately. 

"  Thanks,"  smiled  Hewitt,  repeating  Homer  Gray 
again.  "Now  what  about  the  company?" 

"  I  can't  tell.  I  hardly  think  they  '11  want  to  give 
five  hundred  dollars.  But  I  '11  see." 

Hewitt  shook  hands  cordially  with  the  man. 

He  kept  his  father  for  his  noon  hour.  He  must 
step  cautiously  there.  His  diffidence,  shattered  by  his 


316  CASTE  THREE 

morning's  success,  returned  in  the  presence  of  his 
family.  He  had  thought  to  bring  up  the  subject  for 
discussion  at  the  table,  but  his  father  was  not  well. 
He  was  crabbed.  "  I  feel  awful  weak,"  he  kept  say- 
ing, and  he  ate  little. 

After  dinner  Hewitt  sauntered  out  on  the  veranda 
and  sat  down.  He  would  have  preferred  to  tackle 
a  hundred  strangers  for  a  thousand  dollars  apiece  to 
asking  his  father  for  three  hundred.  Gray  had  him 
listed  for  five  hundred,  but  Hewitt  knew  he  could 
never  get  that  much.  Once  he  decided  that  he 
would  tell  Gray  himself  to  approach  Mr.  Stevenson, 
and  he  rose  with  the  intention  of  going  down-town, 
leaving  the  subject  untouched  with  his  father.  Then 
the  ridiculousness  of  making  such  a  suggestion  to  Gray 
struck  Hewitt. 

His  father  lay  in  the  dining-room  on  the  yellow 
plush  couch,  with  a  handkerchief  over  his  face. 
Hewitt  stood  in  the  doorway  observing  him.  He 
would  n't  have  a  chance  in  the  world,  even  for  five 
dollars,  he  felt  sure.  Quietly  he  withdrew. 

He  sat  down  on  the  steps.  He  became  ashamed 
when  he  thought  of  that  dinner  where  team  reports 
were  to  be  given.  The  most  prominent  men  in  Alston 
would  be  there. 

He  went  into  the  dining-room  again. 

"  Say,  Father,"  he  began,  seating  himself  at  the 
table  and  drumming  restlessly  on  the  cloth  with  one 
hand,  "  did  you  know  that  old  man  Brandt  when  he 


CASTE  THREE  317 

died  left  a  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  dollars  to  Alston 
for  a  Y.  M.  C.  A.,  on  condition  that  Alston  raised  the 
remainder?  " 

"  I  heard  it.  They  '11  never  raise  it"  Mr.  Steven- 
son turned  his  face  to  the  wall.  "  I  'm  weak  all  over. 
I  'd  like  to  know  what 's  the  matter  with  me." 

"  They  '11  never  raise  it  unless  every  man  in  Alston 
does  his  share."  The  onslaught  had  begun.  Hewitt 
buckled  on  some  of  Homer  Gray's  energy,  and  sat  up. 
"  Gray  put  me  on  his  team,"  he  added  slowly. 

"  He  did  ?  He 's  a  young  fool.  He  thinks  he  's 
going  to  follow  in  Keith's  footsteps.  He  '11  never  do 
it.  He  's  not  a  big  enough  man.  He  may  land  in 
Congress  some  day,  if  he  can  fool  enough  people  with 
that  line  of  talk  of  his.  He  '11  never  fill  the  gover- 
nor's chair." 

"  He  's  pretty  bright.     He  's  published  a  book." 

"  Lots  of  numskulls  publish  books." 

"  Anyway,  he  put  me  on  his  team.  I  got  a  hundred 
dollars  from  a  young  engineer  out  at  Preston's  this 
morning,  and  five  hundred  from  Walden  H.  Kirst. 
Langdon,  at  the  file  works,  came  through  with  three 
hundred.  I  've  got  Tracy,  secretary  of  the  mills,  to 
promise  two  hundred.  He  may  make  it  five  to- 
morrow. What  are  you  going  to  give,  Father?  " 

The  bomb  fell  to  the  ground  without  exploding. 

"  I  promised  Peterson  at  the  bank  I  'd  give  a  hun- 
dred." 

"  You  '11  have  to  come  through  with  more  than  a 


318  CASTE  THREE 

hundred,  Father,  if  you  want  to  hold  up  your  head 
in  this  town.  They  're  expecting  five  hundred  from 
you."  Hewitt  had  grown  bold. 

"  They  '11  have  to  expect  again.  I  'd  like  to  know 
what 's  the  matter  with  me.  I  'm  sick  all  over,  with 
pains  in  my  head."  He  moved.  The  handkerchief 
fell  off  his  head  to  the  floor. 

"  I  '11  get  you  a  cold  cloth  for  your  eyes,"  Grace 
called  from  the  kitchen. 

"  That  feels  good,"  Mr.  Stevenson  said,  when 
Hewitt  had  brought  it  in  and  laid  it  on  his  head.  "  I  'd 
like  to  know  what 's  the  matter  with  me,"  he  repeated. 

"  About  this  money,"  Hewitt  began  again.  "  It 's 
like  this,  Father.  Every  man  in  this  town  who 's 
known  to  have  money  and  does  n't  give  it  is  going  to 
be  beastly  unpopular  when  this  campaign  is  over  and 
the  lists  are  published." 

"  But  I  have  n't  any  money,"  said  his  father  slowly, 
as  though  with  an  effort. 

"  You  had  enough  to  retire." 

"  That  was  n't  much.  I  wish  I  'd  kept  that  farm. 
I  'd  feel  more  satisfied  if  I  had  it  right  now.  This 
idea  of  loafing  around,  trying  to  make  a  few  acres 
of  garden  fill  up  your  time,  is  n't  what  it 's  cracked  up 
to  be.  I  'm  not  rich.  I  wish  I  was." 

"  You  're  not  rich,  but  you  could  give  five  hundred 
to  this  Y.  M.  C.  A.  and  never  notice  it.  Come  on, 
Father,  be  a  sport.  We  need  this  thing.  That  Meth- 
odist gymnasium  they  Ve  just  put  up  back  of  the 
church  does  n't  fill  the  bill  by  any  means." 


CASTE  THREE  319 

"  I  never  thought  it  would.  I  gave  fifty  dollars  to 
that  because  Grace  wanted  me  to." 

"  Well,  what  it  does  in  a  small  way  the  Y.  M.  C  A. 
will  do  in  a  large  one.  It 's  ridiculous  that  Alston 
has  n't  had  a  Y.  M.  C.  A.  before  this.  Consider  me, 
for  instance.  I  'm  just  at  the  age  when  a  Y.  M.  C. 
A.  would  save  my  soul,  keep  me  off  the  streets,  and 
make  a  man  of  me." 

A  wan  smile  greeted  this  sally. 

"  I  guess  you  '11  get  along  without  a  Y.  M.  C.  A., 
Hewie." 

"  But  suppose  I  told  you,  Father,  that  your  giving 
five  hundred  dollars  would  make  a  difference  in  the 
way  I  feel  about  Alston."  This  was  said  thoughtfully. 

"  How  's  that?  "  his  father  said,  removing  the  cloth 
from  his  eyes  to  watch  Hewitt. 

"Well,  it's  like  this:  I've  always  felt  like  that 
ticket-speculator  in  a  show  called  '  The  Country  Boy.' 
— '  I  'd  rather  be  a  ripple  on  Michigan  Avenue  than  a 
tidal  wave  in  a  town  like  this.'  Lately  I  've  begun  feel- 
ing a  little  differently.  I  've  thought  once  or  twice  that 
this  would  n't  be  such  a  bad  little  city  to  settle  down 
in,  if  a  man  had  some  of  the  things  he  wanted  here. 
Not  that  I  've  passed  up  the  university  idea.  I  'm  still 
strong  for  that.  But  Alston  's  a  nice  place  to  live,  if 
one  has  the  things  he  wants.  Now,  if  you  added  five 
hundred  dollars  to  that  fund,  I  'd  feel,  in  a  way,  as 
if  Alston  belonged  to  me.  It 's  hard  to  explain, 
Father,  but  I  believe  I  'd  feel  differently." 

There  was  silence,  while  Mr.   Stevenson  replaced 


320  CASTE  THREE 

the  cloth  on  his  eyes  and  settled  himself  again  com- 
fortably. 

"  Suppose,  Hewie,"  he  said  after  an  interval,  "  sup- 
pose I  put  it  to  you  this  way.  I  '11  give  five  hundred 
dollars  out  of  the  money  you  '11  get  after  I  'm  gone." 
He  paused.  "  I  'm  not  so  old ;  I  may  last  twenty  years 
yet,  Hewie.  Our  family  lives  a  long  time.  But  some 
day  you  and  Grace  and  Paul  will  get  all  I  've  got.  I 
don't  think  it 's  quite  fair  for  me  to  give  this  five 
hundred  out  of  their  share,  too.  We  're  living  on  the 
interest  from  the  money  from  the  land,  and  the  prin- 
cipal is  not  so  enormous.  You  can  take  your  five 
hundred  an.d  give  four  hundred  of  it  to  this  Y.  M. 
C.  A.  fund,  if  that 's  what  you  want  to  do.  You  can 
keep  one  hundred  dollars  to  help  on  your  college 
money,  and  I  '11  pay  the  hundred  I  've  already  told 
Peterson  that  I  'd  contribute.  I  did  n't  feel  as  if  I 
could  put  you  through  college,  Hewie,  unless  you  could 
go  on  the  farm  afterward  and  help  put  the  money 
back  into  the  principal.  But  I  'd  like  you  to  come  back 
to  Alston  sometime  and  live  here." 

Hewitt  stood  up  and  stretched  himself. 

"  But  I  want  you  to  put  in  all  the  five  hundred  tinder 
your  own  name,  Father,"  he  said.  "  I  '11  contribute 
ten  dollars  or  so  for  my  share.  That  '11  look  better." 

For  almost  ten  days  after  this  conversation  Hewitt 
let  Mary  Young  wander  in  the  hinterland  of  his  mind. 
Being  a  member  of  team  one,  Y.  M.  C.  A.  Publicity 
Committee,  meant  work.  It  was  work  Hewitt  grew 
to  like.  He  met  all  the  leading  citizens  of  Alston. 


CASTE  THREE  321 

He  parleyed,  dined,  made  a  short  and  extremely  boyish 
speech  at  a  dinner  of  the  workers  and  a  longer  speech 
to  the  employees  of  the  Iron  Fence-Post  Company. 

Chicago  stock  had  dropped  to  fifty  and  there  were 
no  sales. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

MARY,  with  her  sixty  —  or  was  it  a  hundred? 
—  other  interests,  was  not  particularly  aware 
of  neglect  on  the  part  of  Hewitt  Stevenson,  clerk, 
intellectual,  and  member  of  team  one,  Y.  M.  C.  A. 
Publicity  Committee.  When  he  met  her  on  the  street, 
after  the  last  dollar  had  been  pledged  for  the  founding 
of  the  institution  which  was  to  safeguard  the  young 
manhood  of  Alston,  he  remembered  the  "  perhaps  " 
which  had  ended  their  last  talk.  She  was  cordial  and 
kind,  but  that  signified  nothing.  Mary  would  have 
been  that  to  the  Lord  High  Executioner  himself,  when 
about  to  relieve  her  of  her  head.  Caste  three  never 
deserted  their  standard.  Hewitt  told  her  about  his 
small  and  modest  part  in  the  campaign  just  closed. 

"When  can  I  see  you?"  he  asked,  scanning  her 
face  carefully  in  order  to  ascertain  his  exact  status 
in  her  affections. 

"  To-morrow  night  I  'm  not  doing  anything,"  she 
replied. 

"May  I  come  then?"  He  was  less  abject,  more 
sure  of  himself,  although  he  had  not  been  able  to  de- 
cipher her  expression.  It  is  doubtful  whether  Mary 
Young's  expression  could  ever  have  been  deciphered 
by  an  amateur  decipherer.  It  was  a  very  excellent 
mask,  the  mask  of  an  expert,  Mary  Young's  mask. 

322 


CASTE  THREE  323 

Has  it  not  already  been  stated  that  Mary  did  every- 
thing well? 

She  nodded,  and  smiled  her  gay  smile  at  some 
passersby. 

Hewitt  was  determined  to  show  Mary  that  he  was 
as  interesting  as  of  old.  She  should  n't  discard  him 
on  a  pretext.  She  must  know  that  it  was  the  uncer- 
tainty of  his  position  which  had  driven  him  to  the 
figurative  extravagance  of  that  note  about  mud. 
Surely  she  understood  youth  in  love  —  she  who  had 
seen  so  many  youths  in  love.  And  she  must  have  seen 
them.  Of  course  there  still  were  her  faults  —  insin- 
cerity, superficiality,  blind  adherence  to  caste,  lack  of 
depth  of  affection.  But  we  all  have  our  faults,  mused 
Hewitt,  thinking  of  his  own  insignificant  few.  Man, 
with  a  mind  for  the  big,  the  vital,  must  overlook 
pettiness  in  women,  especially  in  beautiful  women. 

If  he  had  thought  to  have  a  quiet  evening  with  Mary 
on  the  Trimble  veranda,  amid  talk  of  books  and  of 
him  and  of  her  and  of  Alston  and  of  the  world, 
Hewitt  must  have  been  disappointed  when  she  came 
downstairs  and  told  him  they  were  going  to  the 
Hawtreys  to  Margaret's  "  open  house."  He  was  not 
entirely  sure  what  an  "  open  house  "  was  in  Alston, 
but  he  knew  it  must  be  a  social  gathering  at  which  he 
would  be  bored  and  uncomfortable.  Margaret  Haw- 
trey  was  young,  eighteen  or  less.  He  had  n't  been 
trained  to  social  gatherings.  They  —  the  best  and  the 
worst  of  them  —  disturbed  him  tremendously.  Mary 
knew  this,  he  felt  sure;  yet  she  said  they  were  going 


324  CASTE  THREE 

to  Margaret  Hawtrey's  "  open  house."  Probably 
every  one  went  to  "  open  houses,"  every  one  being 
those  who  were  eligible  to  enter  caste  three.  When 
every  one  came,  they  probably  conversed.  He  could 
see  and  hear  them  conversing,  conversing  on  the  large 
issues  of  life,  the  Country  Club,  other  "  open  houses," 
absent  members  of  the  caste,  each  other,  people  who 
were  almost  in  caste  three,  but  who  were  not  nearly 
enough  in  to  be  counted  as  "  every  one,"  golf,  embroid- 
ery, travel  to  summer  resorts,  each  other,  the  Country 
Club.  Into  all  this  conversation  on  the  "  large  issues  " 
he  would  be  unable  to  enter,  on  account  of  paralysis 
of  the  tongue,  or,  at  worst,  of  nervous  centers  gen- 
erally ;  or,  if  he  spoke,  his  remark  would  sound  strange, 
inapropos,  forced,  a  remark  to  hear,  ignore  politely, 
and  let  fall  to  the  ground  unanswered.  His  remarks 
at  social  gatherings  always  sounded  like  that,  especially 
if  the  gathering  consisted  of  young  buds  and  girls 
older  than  the  high-schoolers  and  younger  than  Mrs. 
Lombard.  With  oldish  people,  especially  ladies,  he 
generally  succeeded  better,  unless  Mary  was  present 
to  paralyze  him,  to  deprive  him  of  all  power  even  to 
make  an  audible  noise  which  might  be  mistaken,  by 
those  who  had  never  heard  his  voice,  for  an  effort  at 
speech. 

Hewitt  felt  that  Mary  would  have  given  him  sin- 
cere admiration,  had  he  possessed  the  social  polish 
which  characterized  Joe  Bales  and  his  friends.  She 
who  was  so  at  ease,  even  stimulated,  in  a  group  —  the 
larger  the  group,  the  more  stimulated  she  became  — 


CASTE  THREE  325 

could  not  understand  tremors  which  robbed  living  of 
its  joy  when  he  came  into  contact  on  a  purely  social 
basis  with  more  than  one  person. 

But  Hewitt's  position  with  relation  to  Mary  was 
not  such  that  he  could  begin  the  evening  by  complain- 
ing of  her  decision  to  go  to  the  Hawtreys'  "  open 
house."  He  was  unnaturally  good-humored  during 
their  journey  to  the  heart  of  the  social.  He  was 
amusing,  hard-heartedly  amusing,  deserting  his  cher- 
ished position  as  defender  of  that  part  of  humanity 
which  had  drawn  the  seamy  side  to  hurl  pebbles  at 
the  Alstonians  she  had  no  affection  for  and  who  could 
be  attacked  cleverly  without  danger.  He  referred 
glibly  to  the  "  Argus  Pheasant." 

"What  is  an  'Argus  Pheasant,'  Hewitt?"  Mary 
asked  curiously. 

He  had  used  the  term  in  speaking  of  a  newly  rich 
woman  who  was  a  stranger  in  Alston  and  thus  a  mere 
candidate  for  caste  three.  The  latter  regarded  her 
with  a  mixture  of  contempt  and  perplexed  indecision 
which  the  rich  stranger  within  our  gates  deserves  and 
receives.  She  was,  so  the  guardians  of  the  walls  had 
almost  decided,  while  waiting  to  see  who  would  make 
advances  to  her,  an  over-dressed  person  who  threw  out 
too  evident  wiles  toward  young  men. 

"  An  Argus  Pheasant,"  Hewitt  explained  demurely 
and  deliberately,  as  yet  untouched  by  the  misery  he 
knew  would  come  upon  him  in  the  presence  of  "  every 
one,"  "  is  a  bird  that  has  developed  its  gorgeous 
plumage  at  the  expense  of  its  free  movement." 


326  CASTE  THREE 

Mary  gurgled,  and  decided  to  remember  that  bon 
mot.  Cleverness  often  consists  in  borrowing  the  right 
phrases. 

The  "  open  house  "  proved  to  be  only  slightly  worse 
than  Hewitt  had  anticipated,  because  his  expectations 
had  been  of  such  a  nature  as  to  make  the  real  event 
impossible  of  much  improvement  in  that  direction. 
Eighteen-year-old  maidens,  with  escorts  of  like  or 
greater  age,  held  the  center  of  the  stage  until  Mary 
arrived.  Conversation  was  indulged  in,  as  he  had  ex- 
pected, but  it  was  not  the  main  diversion  of  the  eve- 
ning Dancing  was  the  chief  attraction.  This  did  not 
simplify  matters  for  Hewitt;  rather,  it  complicated 
them,  for,  if  anything,  he  danced  with  less  ease  than 
he  talked  on  such  occasions.  He  had  taken  lessons  in 
Chicago,  he  remembered,  when  he  wanted  to  be  more 
than  usually  unhappy.  He  had  struggled,  but  primar- 
ily he  did  not  conceive  of  man  as  a  dancing  animal. 
Confronted  by  the  "  open  house  "  as  a  function  where 
one  danced,  he  quailed.  His  position  was  difficult. 
If  he  danced,  Mary  would  discover,  and  greet  with 
the  disdain  such  a  performance  merited,  his  deficien- 
cies as  a  dancing-man.  If  he  refused,  she  would 
think  he  was  the  canary  who  could  sing  but  would  not 
do  so. 

The  mothers  of  the  eighteen-year-old  girls  were 
distributed  in  chattering  groups  throughout  the  house 
and  upon  the  wide,  vine-covered  veranda.  There  was 
a  sprinkling  of  fathers.  Evidently  this  was  to  be  a 
conspicuously  large  "  open  house."  Groups  already 


CASTE  THREE  327 

strolled  out  toward  the  rustic  summer-house  with  its 
Japanese  lanterns,  wandered  through  the  house,  or 
sat  on  rustic  seats.  The  affair  would  begin  early  and 
last  till  a  late  hour. 

Everything  must  come  to  an  end  in  time,  however, 
mused  the  philosopher-by-necessity,  at  eight-thirty. 

Mary's  vivacity  increased  in  proportion  as  they  ap- 
proached the  house. 

"Hello,  dears!"  she  called  to  the  nearest  of  the 
talking  groups  of  grown-ups.  "  Having  a  good 
time?" 

"  The  children  are,"  replied  Mrs.  Lombard. 

"  I  hope  none  of  them  heard  you  say  '  children ' ! 
Hewitt,  you  know  every  one  up  here?  " 

Hewitt  thought,  without  being  sure  of  anything 
except  his  growing  discomfiture,  that  he  did. 

Music  from  a  saxophone  and  a  piano,  with  an  ac- 
companiment of  trap-drums,  broke  forth  from  the 
inner  regions.  The  dancers  hastened  inside. 

"  Hello,  Mary !  So  glad  you  came  and  that  you  Ve 
brought  Mr.  Stevenson,"  Margaret  Hawtrey  called  to 
them. 

"  I  want  the  next,  Mary,"  came  from  the  trees. 

"Who  is  it?" 

"  Morgan." 

"  You  do  dance,  don't  you?  "  Mary  turned- to  say  to 
Hewitt. 

He  had  not  decided  whether  to  tell  the  whole  truth 
or  half  a  truth.  Thus  he  hesitated,  and  the  usual 
happened. 


328  CASTE  THREE 

"  Come,  then !  You  must  dance  with  some  of  the 
younger  girls  after  this  one.  You  '11  like  them. 
They  're  dears.  Margaret  is  to  enter  Wellesley. 
You  '11  have  something  in  common.  Now  do  be  nice 
and  sociable/' 

Hewitt  did  n't  feel  sociable.  He  felt  stiff.  He  was 
sorry  he  had  not  said  a  final  and  emphatic  "  No," 
when  asked  whether  or  not  he  danced.  This  would 
have  made  him  an  attendant  on  the  mothers  or  free 
to  smoke  in  a  chair  far  from  the  maddening  crowd 
of  habitues.  At  the  crucial  moment  his  courage  had 
failed.  He  must  again  pay  for  a  lack  of  skill,  this 
time  to  say  the  half -true  "  No."  Well,  he  would 
dance  around  once  with  Mary  and  then,  before  she 
could  introduce  him  to  the  young  girls  he  was  willing 
to  take  her  word  for  as  being  nice,  retire  into  the 
all-enshrouding  darkness,  once  she  had  been  put  safely 
into  the  hands  of  his  rival,  Morgan.  Much  as  he 
feared  and  hated  Morgan's  monopoly  of  Mary,  Hewitt 
would  do  this.  He  loved  Mary  well,  but  his  comfort 
better. 

Mary  led  him  into  the  brilliancy  of  the  lighted 
parlors  where  the  saxophone  orchestra  held  forth  in 
raucous  tones  so  fascinating  to  the  dancer.  The 
"  eighteens "  and  their  partners  were  engrossed  in 
their  own  rhythmical  movement,  but  not  to  the  ex- 
clusion of  Mary.  They  had  hardly  begun  to  dance 
before  her  presence  was  noted. 

"Hello,  Mary!"  called  Tom  Brandon.  "I  want 
a  dance  with  you." 


CASTE  THREE  329 

Hewitt  was  then  introduced  to  Tom,  while  the  two 
couples  danced  along  together. 

"  I  suppose  you  know  you  are  dancing  with  the 
best  dancer  in  town,"  Tom  told  him  in  friendly 
fashion. 

"  I  judged  that,"  Hewitt  managed  to  say. 

He  had  never  been  more  miserable  in  his  life.  His 
knees  were  enormous  wooden  balls-and-sockets  which 
were  permanently  out  of  order.  Despite  his  large, 
awkward  movements,  his  stiffness  of  back,  his  blurred- 
ness  of  brains,  however,  they  were  moving  with  a 
smoothness  which  must  have  been  deceiving  to  spec- 
tators. Mary  made  this  deception  possible.  She 
danced  for  three.  He  would  have  known  it  by  her 
silence,  had  he  been  ignorant  of  his  inability  to  do 
the  necessary  things  in  this  branch  of  accomplishment. 
She  did  not  speak  after  they  had  talked  to  Tom  Bran- 
don. She  probably  had  no  breath  for  speech.  She 
was  consuming  large  amounts  of  energy,  Hewitt  felt. 

To  Hewitt,  the  rooms  through  which  they  danced 
were  a  swirl  of  blinding  light,  flickering  with  blurs 
of  color  that  were  girls  and  streaks  of  black  that  were 
men.  All  the  world  glided,  laughing  and  talking, 
through  the  intricate  steps  of  the  dance.  They  were 
masters  of  this  art.  Only  Hewitt  watched  his  step 
and,  in  the  very  act  of  watching,  lost  the  slight  mechan- 
ical dexterity  he  had  developed  at  that  far  distant 
dancing-school  and  groped  for  the  next  move.  Mary 
followed  with  remarkable  skill,  considering  her  diffi- 
culties. 


330  CASTE  THREE 

At  the  door,  after  having  gone  once  around,  Hewitt 
stopped  and  drew  Mary  into  the  friendly  semi-dark- 
ness of  the  veranda.  He  was  hot  and  miserable. 

"Why  did  you  bring  me  to  this  thing?"  he  con- 
fronted her  with,  as  he  led  her  down  the  steps  to  the 
lawn. 

"  I  had  an  engagement  with  you,  didn't  I?  After 
I  made  it,  Margaret  wanted  me  to  come  to  her  '  open 
house.'  It 's  quite  informal.  Your  coming  is  per- 
fectly proper,  even  though  Margaret  did  n't  know  you 
socially,"  she  explained,  with  a  gentleness  he  had  no 
right  to  expect.  In  the  shadow  of  the  trees  she  lost 
her  vivacity,  he  noticed. 

"  Some  one  else  asked  you  to  come ! "  he  went  on 
less  angrily,  but  still  emphatically  wishing  himself  out 
of  it. 

"What  if  some  one  did?  Other  people  have  the 
right  to  ask  me  to  go  to  an  '  open  house,'  Hewitt." 

He  looked  down  sulkily  at  the  ground 

"  I  'm  sorry  you  had  to  come  with  me." 

"  I  'm  not.  So  why  should  you  be  ?  "  She  touched 
his  arm  appeal ingly. 

"  But  it 's  hard  on  you  to  have  to  dance  with  me." 

"  You  dance  very  well.  Don't  decide  you  do  it 
badly,  for  goodness'  sake!  That  ruins  anybody  for 
dancing." 

"  I  'm  not  a  dancing  man." 

"  Then  you  must  become  one.  This  is  no  age  for 
a  recluse.  Do  everything,  and  do  everything  well." 

"  That 's  the  way  you  do  things." 


CASTE  THREE  331 

"  I  try  to  be  decently  proficient  in  the  things  every- 
body does.  But  come  up  to  the  house.  You  must 
dance  with  some  of  the  young  girls.  And  talk!  Act 
interested  in  yourself  and  in  them.  You  must." 

"  I  'm  not  interested  in  myself  to-night." 

"  Then  pretend  to  be." 

Still  miserable,  Hewitt  was  led  to  the  slaughter. 
The  dancers  were  streaming  out  into  the  air.  He  was 
introduced  to  a  great  many  of  them,  without  hearing 
their  names.  They  swarmed  about  Mary  —  millions 
of  them,  it  seemed  to  him.  How  could  a  man  remem- 
ber a  million  names,  even  if  he  heard  them  when  they 
were  pronounced?  He  finally  sat  down,  because  the 
other  men  in  the  group  did,  on  the  steps  of  the  veranda. 
Mary  turned  her  attention  to  Margaret  Hawtrey  and 
Bob  Dillings.  She  parried  laughing  insults  from 
Harvey  Lombard,  who  was  allowed  out  with  every- 
one to-night  on  account  of  the  intimacy  between  his 
family  and  that  of  the  hostess.  Hewitt  pondered  over 
Harvey's  gay  bantering.  Why  not  be  in  bed,  where 
comfort  lay?  Caste  three  asks  only  that  you  let  your 
fountain  of  joy  flow  when  in  its  midst,  but  Hewitt  had 
no  fountain  of  joy. 

At  the  beginning  of  the  next  dance  Mary  disap- 
peared on  the  arm  of  Arthur  Morgan.  When  the 
group  of  which  Hewitt  was  a  non-existent  portion 
had  broken  up  into  pairs,  he  was  left  alone  on  the 
steps.  The  movement  which  he  made  in  getting  off 
the  steps  and  out  in  the  direction  of  the  dimly  lighted 
summer-house,  where  the  darkness  was  deeper,  may 


332  CASTE  THREE 

be  best  described  as  "  slinking."  Slinking  had  become 
Hewitt's  ideal  mode  of  locomotion.  It  meant  evad- 
ing the  horrors  of  being  social.  It  meant  a  beginning 
of  freedom  for  thought.  It  meant  temporary  peace, 
which  would  be  lengthened  into  three  hours  of  peace 
at  the  slightest  opportunity. 

He  lighted  a  cigarette  and  slunk  into  the  darkness. 
He  inhaled  the  blessed  air  of  evening,  unpolluted  by 
talk  about  the  "  great  issues."  He  gazed  at  the  quiet 
stars.  Peace  dipped  in  its  flight  through  space  and 
sat  upon  his  shoulder. 

Not  for  long  did  it  stay  there,  however. 

Fathers  were  about.  Hewitt  encountered  two  of 
them.  They  observed  him  and  spoke  to  him.  The 
ends  of  their  cigars  alternately  darkened  and  glowed. 
One  of  them  scanned  his  face  as  best  he  could. 

"  I  guess  I  don't  know  you,  young  man.  I  'm  Carl 
Hawtrey.  This  is  Mr.  Lombard." 

"  Hewitt  Stevenson,  sir."  He  shook  their  prof- 
fered hands. 

"  Come  back  with  us.  You  don't  want  to  miss  this 
dancing.  Ladies  must  be  taken  care  of.  It  strikes 
me,  Lombard,  that  the  lads  are  n't  so  attentive  as  we 
used  to  be.  Eh?" 

That  left  Hewitt  in  a  position  where  courtesy  made 
demands. 

"  I  think  no  one  's  being  left  out  this  dance,"  he 
said,  but  nevertheless  started  to  accompany  them  to 
the  house.  "  I  believe  there  are  some  extra  young 
men." 


CASTE  THREE  333 

"  You  ought  to  be  showing  the  old  ladies  a 
good  time,  then.  Somebody  has  to  make  up  for 
our  rheumatic  incapacity.  Eh,  Lombard  ? "  He 
laughed  heartily,  a  laugh  in  which  Hewitt  could  not 
join. 

Mr.  Lombard  agreed  with  everything  Mr.  Hawtrey 
said,  giving  nods  which  sent  his  cigar  into  a  glow 
again. 

So  it  was  that  at  the  beginning  of  the  next  dance 
Hewitt  was  standing  with  the  two  fathers  at  the  steps, 
his  cigarette  cast  aside,  his  arm  hanging  over  the 
railing,  his  manner  heavy.  Further  misery  was  im- 
minent, and  he  was  not  man  enough  to  meet  it  with  the 
manner  debonnair. 

Mary  Young  had  passed  with  her  escort,  all  elas- 
ticity and  joy.  They  were  even  now  running  across 
the  lawn  together  in  pursuit  of  Margaret  and  Bob 
Dillings.  A  lump  took  its  place  permanently  in 
Hewitt's  throat.  He,  too,  wanted  to  be  gay,  but  he 
remained  lumpier  than  before. 

Once  again  the  dancers  went  into  the  house.  Mar- 
garet Hawtrey  was  standing  beside  her  mother  when 
the  last  couple  strolled  in.  Duty  called,  and  duty's 
demands  were  reinforced  by  the  presence  of  two 
fathers. 

"May  I  have  this  one?"  Hewitt  asked  Margaret, 
coming  upon  her  so  suddenly  that  she  started.  It 
had  been  necessary  for  him  to  hurry,  to  strike  while 
his  resolution  remained  hot. 

"  I  should  love  to  dance  with  you,"  she  said,  in  the 


334  CASTE  THREE 

stereotyped  extravagant  form  used  by  all  the  progeny 
of  caste  three. 

Hewitt  talked.  Margaret  smiled  at  him  and  ex- 
changed repartee  with  passing  couples.  Evidently  he 
was  not  convincing  as  a  speaker  on  trivial  subjects. 
He  decided  this  before  the  dance  was  half  over,  and 
relapsed  into  painful  silence  which  would  have  been 
unnoticed  had  he  been  in  full  control  of  his  pedal 
extremities.  He  reddened  with  increasing  splendor 
about  the  ears.  All  visible  parts  of  him  reddened. 

As  soon  as  Margaret  guessed  from  this  flag  of  dis- 
tress that  he  was  uncomfortable,  she  turned  all  her 
batteries  of  pleasantry  into  play  and  saved  the  day. 
When  the  music  stopped  she  swept  him  to  a  choice 
seat  and  talked  exclusively  to  him  about  books.  She 
had  heard  Mary  say  that  he  was  intellectual ;  therefore 
she  confined  herself  to  intellectual  subjects. 

"  Do  you  like  Longfellow  ?  "  she  asked,  wide-eyed. 
She  looked  very  pretty,  Hewitt  thought. 

"  One  does  n't  like  Longfellow  in  this  day,  I  be- 
lieve," he  said,  with  a  great  show  of  thinking  hard. 
"  One  tolerates  him,  I  should  say." 

"  Oh !  "  she  said,  astonished  and  saddened.  "  Is  n't 
it  —  nice  to  like  him  ?  "  To  like  something  it  was  n't 
"  the  thing  "  among  the  best  people  to  like  was  incom- 
prehensible to  Margaret. 

"  Well,  it  is  '  nice  '  to  like  any  one  who  appeals  to 
you,"  Hewitt  was  quick  to  add.  "  You  must  follow 
your  own  taste.  I  was  only  expressing  my  opinion." 

"  Oh !  "     This  time  the  "  Oh  "  was  one  of  relief. 


CASTE  THREE  335 

"  What  poems  of  his  do  you  admire?  "  he  asked. 

"  Oh,  the  ones  every  one  admires,"  was  her  in- 
definite reply. 

"  You  see," —  Hewitt  leaned  back  and  felt  almost 
comfortable  for  a  few  minutes, — "  Longfellow  is 
rather  second-rate,  according  to  our  standards.  He 
wasn't  great  enough.  Narrative  poetry  is  in  dis- 
repute, anyway.  The  novel  has  entirely  taken  its 
place.  Poetry  is  going  in  the  same  direction  as  art. 
There 's  a  tendency  to  write  pure  emotion,  if  you 
understand  that." 

She  gazed  at  him,  with  her  wide  eyes  questioning. 

"  That 's  very  interesting,"  she  said,  smiling. 
"  Thank  you  for  telling  me.  I  don't  read  much.  You 
do,  don't  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  I  read  more  than  most  men. 
That 's  rather  my  line.  It 's  not  just  books,  you  see. 
People  think  that.  A  book  is  n't  worth  anything  un- 
less it  is  art  or  contains  ideas.  I  am  interested  in 
science  myself." 

"  Are  you  going  away  to  school?  " 

"  To  Chicago." 

"  I  'm  going  to  Wellesley.  Susannah  Conners  — 
you  have  n't  met  her  have  you  ?  —  and  her  mother  are 
in  New  York.  She  's  been  at  Smith  this  year.  Sev- 
eral of  the  girls  here  are  going  to  Smith,  but  mother 
and  I  chose  Wellesley."  She  smiled  at  him  again. 

This  was  much  better.  Hewitt  was  almost  enjoying 
himself. 

Mary  was  inside  the  house.     Her  voice  floated  out 


336  CASTE  THREE 

to  Hewitt  just  as  he  made  this  decision  about  his  feel- 
ings. Instantly  his  content  fled.  He  wondered  if  she 
would  continue  to  amuse  herself  with  the  natives,  and 
leave  him  to  himself  and  young  women  who  said  they 
admired  Longfellow. 

"  There  are  schools  which  fit  our  needs,"  he  began 
again  to  Margaret.  "  Chicago  stands  for  science.  I 
suppose  Smith  has  something  particularly  good  about 
it,  and  Wellesley,  too." 

"  Mother  and  I  liked  the  catalogue's  description  of 
it,"  Margaret  replied.  "  Then  we  met  such  a  nice  girl, 
while  we  were  East  last  summer,  who  had  been  there. 
If  Susannah  Conners  were  going  back  to  Smith,  I 
would  go  with  her.  But  she  is  n't.  She  has  n't  been 
well,  and  her  mother  thinks  of  bringing  her  back  to 
Alston  next  winter.  So  perhaps  I  won't  even  go  to 
Wellesley.  Susannah  will  hate  not  to  go,  but  Aunt 
Jean  —  she  is  n't  really  my  aunt,  but  everyone  here 
calls  her  that  —  Aunt  Jean  always  has  her  way  about 
Susannah." 

Mary,  in  the  house,  was  being  jolly  to  five  people 
at  once.  Each  thought  she  was  being  nice  to  him  or 
her  personally,  since  she  wasted  as  much  attention  on 
the  girls  as  on  the  men.  Mary  was  incomparable! 
Hewitt  often  thought  of  the  fact  gleaned  from  psy- 
chology, that  a  memory  of  past  successes  is  essential 
to  one's  self-confidence.  Mary  must  have  an  entire 
book  of  past  successes  in  her  memory.  She  was  the 
center  of  every  circle.  No  wonder  caste  three  wanted 
her  at  their  parties,  even  the  younger  sets.  She  toned 


CASTE  THREE  337 

up  a  party,  gave  it  zest.  No  dull  moments  existed 
around  Mary.  They  scurried  away  into  dark  cor- 
ners when  she  appeared. 

Hewitt  listened  to  Mary  and  forgot  to  be  thankful 
to  Margaret  for  playing  the  attentive  hostess  to  him, 
—  for  that  must  be  why  she  was  pretending  this  great 
interest  in  books.  He  began  wishing  that  Mary  would 
come  out  and  lay  her  hand  on  his  head. 

"  I  think  so,"  he  was  saying  to  Margaret,  in  answer 
to  a  question.  He  wondered  what  the  question  had 
been. 

Three  Hewitts  were  present  at  the  Hawtreys'  "  open 
house."  Three  Hewitts  were  present  wherever  one 
dragged  them  during  these  days.  They  were  very 
interesting  for  an  introspective  mind  to  watch.  He 
got  some  pleasure  out  of  observing  them,  but  he  would 
have  preferred  peace. 

There  was  the  Hewitt  who  was  abjectly  in  love  with 
Mary  Young.  This  one  spent  much  time  in  yearn- 
ing for  a  word  or  a  look  to  show  that  she  continued  to 
single  him  out  as  a  recognized  loyalist  worthy  of  her 
love.  This  Hewitt  was  generally  present  when  Mary 
stood  out  as  the  most  attractive  woman  in  a  group. 
He  cried  out  for  her  to  display  her  affection  not  only 
to  the  public,  but  to  the  other  two  Hewitts  who  sat 
critically  taking  notes  on  her,  ready  to  emerge  into 
the  light  when  the  time  was  propitious  and  express 
themselves  in  no  mild  terms.  This  Hewitt  would  have 
sold  his  soul  for  a  sign  of  deep  and  sincere  feeling  from 
Mary.  This  was  the  Hewitt  who  spent  miserable 


338  CASTE  THREE 

hours  at  night  with  the  knowledge  that  he  was  only 
twenty-one  and  an  incident  to  Mary. 

The-  second  Hewitt  was  the  one  who  in  Chicago  had 
been  in  permanent  domination  of  all  other  Hewitts, 
one  who  was  enormously  interested  in  books,  because 
books  stood  for  ideas.  This  was  Hewitt  the  intel- 
lectual, or  the  embryonically  intellectual.  He  was  the 
Hewitt  whom  Letsky  had  delighted  and  stimulated  with 
his  radicalism,  who  loved  the  world  because  it  held 
other  minds  as  keen  or  keener  than  his  own,  and  who 
loved  argument.  This  second  Hewitt  pounced  upon 
foreign  thought,  loved  France  because  it  contained  the 
Paris  of  literature  and  art,  handed  a  laurel  wreath  to 
the  Germany  of  philosophic  thought,  adored  England 
with  a  great  fervor,  because  it  was  the  land  that  had 
fostered  the  traditions  he  had  been  reared  upon.  This 
was  the  Hewitt  who,  in  his  youth,  would  have  been  the 
happy  companion  of  the  wise,  and  who  would  have 
been  the  enemy  of  all  intellect,  except  his  own,  in 
maturity.  This  was  Hewitt  the  would-be  thinker. 

But  there  had  crept  up  during  the  last  month  a  dis- 
gusting third  Hewitt  who  hated  and  cherished  hate, 
a  disagreeable  Mr.  Hyde  among  Hewitts,  who  showed 
his  fangs  at  a  world  which  did  not  take  him  seriously 
enough  nor  gave  him  what  he  wanted  —  which  was 
praise  for  being  the  second  Hewitt  —  who  snarled  at 
a  world  which  contained  a  Mary  who  valued  others 
more  than  she  did  him.  A  veritable  ogre  was  this 
Hewitt.  He  excreted  emphatically  at  Alston,  spat  in 
rage  at  a  town  which  neither  patronized  nor  under- 


CASTE  THREE  339 

stood  the  things  of  the  mind,  but  was  willing  to  con- 
descend to  those  who  pretended  they  understood,  if 
these,  lacking  wealth  and  the  prestige  of  acting  ac- 
cording to  all  rules  of  caste  three,  wished  to  be  con- 
descended to.  The  second  Hewitt  tried  in  vain  to 
convince  this  third  one  that  Alston  was  only  a  child 
interested  in  finding  out  trivial  but  exciting  items 
about  itself  and  a  material  world  which  was  being 
liberal  with  these  followers  of  hardy  pioneers.  Alston 
in  time  would  grow  up  into  a  fair  maturity  that  was 
convinced  of  other  values.  The  ogre  Hewitt  thrust 
reason  aside.  Spitting  was  fun  and  necessary  to  his 
existence.  Otherwise  one  swallowed  the  venom  and 
was  poisoned.  One  must  not  repress  hate. 

Even  more  efficacious  than  Alston  in  arousing  hate 
in  this  third  Hewitt  was  Mary  the  hoarder  of  scalps, 
the  vampire,  the  non-intellectual,  the  fraud  who  pre- 
tended to  value  other  standards  than  did  her  associates, 
but  was  really  the  slave  of  convention, —  a  Mary,  in- 
deed, among  the  Marthas  of  his  former  ideals!  She 
had  let  him  approach  near  enough  to  see  the  wonders 
of  her  love.  Then  she  had  wanted  him  to  forget. 
The  novelty  was  no  longer  a  novelty;  it  could  be  dis- 
carded. But  reaction  and  an  unexpected  stickiness 
on  the  part  of  a  boy  who  showed  signs  of  being  hurt 
by  this  discarding  had  brought  him  into  partial  favor 
again  —  until  that  note  about  mud.  That  had  relieved 
Mary  of  further  effort  to  be  kind  to  Hewitt.  But 
he  had  not  accepted  the  ultimatum.  He  had  been 
stricken  with  repentance.  She  might  forgive.  He 


340  CASTE  THREE 

was  a  good  trophy,  one  of  the  most  susceptible  she 
had  ever  dealt  with,  and  since  she  could  neglect  him 
when  she  chose,  she  had  not  cast  him  into  outer  dark- 
ness as  she  might  another  offender  or  another  doubter 
of  the  divine  right  of  woman,  according  to  the  roman- 
tic ideal  of  love.  She  had  not  cast  Hewitt  out;  she 
had  equivocated  with  a  "  perhaps." 

The  third  Hewitt  loathed  Mary  Young  with  an 
awful  loathing,  because  she  had  deprived  him  of  his 
self-respect.  He  had  not  been  strong  enough  to  resent 
in  action  that  first  casting-off.  This  bitter  self  became 
drunk  with  power  when  Mary  took  unusual  pains  to 
be  sympathetic  and  kind,  and  it  hurled  reproaches  on 
her  for  being  herself.  After  all,  that  was  what  all 
the  Hewitts  must  conclude  at  last  —  Mary  was  only 
being  herself.  She  was  the  self  she  had  been  during 
a  million  years  of  her  existence  in  a  world  of  men  and 
women  who  seized  the  necessities,  plucked  off  the 
luxuries,  and  amused  themselves  in  the  leisure  which 
possessions  gave  them.  She  was  very  old  in  her 
knowledge  of  the  world.  She  "knew  the  game,"  as 
Reed  had  said.  She  was  hard,  but  she  was  wonder- 
ful. 

Mary's  voice,  which  still  floated  to  him  from  where 
she  sat  entertaining  five  others  inside,  drew  the  first 
Hewitt  to  the  surface.  He  wished  the  next  dance, 
which  would  take  a  very  kind  but  boresome  Margaret 
off  his  hands,  would  come.  He  wanted  to  run  in  to 
Mary,  take  her  out  into  the  darkness,  and  hear  her 
voice,  spoken  only  for  him.  He  wanted  to  look  at 


CASTE  THREE  341 

her  eager  face — if  she  would  only  remain  as  eager 
for  him  as  she  did  for  the  others  —  and  prove  his 
subjection. 

The  saxophone  blared  its  invitation.  Hewitt  arose, 
excused  himself  to  Margaret,  and  hurried  away  into 
the  house.  Mary  was  standing  with  her  hand  thrown 
over  Bob  Billings'  shoulder,  ready  to  dance.  Hewitt 
came  up  behind  her. 

"  Mary,"  he  said,  trying  to  make  his  voice  sound 
like  the  voice  of  others  who  asked  her  to  dance,  "  may 
I  have  the  next  one  ?  " 

"Five  are  promised  ahead,  Hewitt.  Wait,  Bob!" 
She  drew  away  from  her  partner  and  took  Hewitt's 
arm.  "  I  want  you  to  dance  with  Katherine  Miller's 
sister.  She  just  came  in.  She  's  sweet!  " 

Against  his  will  Hewitt  did  so.  He  endured  the 
annoyance  of  trying  to  dance  as  blithely  as  Bob  Dil- 
lings,  while  he  hated  it,  and  of  talking,  when  he  had 
no  desire  to  do  anything  but  get  away  from  all  this. 
Toward  the  end  of  the  evening  Mary  and  Bob  came 
and  sat  with  them,  and  Mary  arranged  the  next  few 
dances  for  Hewitt.  He  endured  that,  too,  in  silence, 
and  at  length  begged  for  one  with  her  later. 

"  You  did  n't  ask  me  to  save  it,"  she  said,  smiling 
her  old  intimate  smile  at  him  and  putting  her  hand  over 
his  on  the  railing  in  the  darkness.  "  I  've  promised 
ahead  all  we  '11  dance  to-night.  I  'm  sorry." 

There  are  degrees  of  torture.  The  nth  degree  was 
what  Hewitt  suffered  at  the  "  open  house,"  an  institu- 
tion supposed  to  entertain  people.  But,  as  he  had 


342  CASTE  THREE 

thought  philosophically, —  before  forgetting  to  remain 
philosophical, —  everything  must  end  in  time.  Some- 
where in  the  vicinity  of  midnight  Mary  came  to  him 
to  be  taken  home. 

She  was  tired,  and  was  glad  to  go.  One  is  not  un- 
obtrusively the  center  of  a  group  of  eighteen-year-old 
boys  and  girls.  One  remains  eager  and  clever  end- 
lessly, but  one  gets  hopelessly  tired.  Hewitt  had  con- 
cealed his  hatred  for  the  "  open  house  "  as  a  social 
gathering  in  which  he  took  a  disagreeable  part,  but 
his  mask  was  never  so  impenetrable  nor  so  well-ad- 
justed as  Mary's.  It  slipped  when  he  had  opened  the 
door  for  her  at  the  Trimbles'  and  stood  waiting  to  say 
good-night  to  her. 

"  Why  did  n't  you  dance  with  me  after  the  first 
one?"  he  demanded  fiercely,  his  load  of  misery  that 
had  been  gathering  weight  all  the  evening  finding  voice 
at  last. 

"  I  did  n't  think  you  wanted  to  dance  with  me," 
Mary  said,  but  she  did  not  carry  out  this  pretence  as 
she  intended.  She  had  played  bridge  all  the  morning 
and  golf  all  the  afternoon.  Her  fingers  were  not 
quick  enough  to  hide  the  yawn  that  rushed  to  her  lips. 
"  Now  you  may  run  on  to  your  fairer  gardens. 
Hewitt,"  she  said.  "Mud  is  tiresome,  isn't  it? 
Even  buttercups  don't  conceal  that  fact.  Buttercups 
are  such  a  common  flower,  anyway.  You  will  love 
all  those  younger  girls  when  you  learn  to  know  them 
better."  She  held  out  her  hand  to  him.  "  Good- 
night." 


CASTE  THREE  343 

Caught  in  the  meshes  of  an  overwhelming  helpless- 
ness, Hewitt  gazed  at  the  fingers  which  she  held  out. 
He  did  not  take  them.  He  seemed  fascinated  by 
them. 

Mary  dropped  her  hand  and  opened  the  door.  With 
her  fingers  on  the  knob,  she  paused. 

"  Good-night,"  she  said  again. 

The  third  self  in  Hewitt  brushed  its  brothers  aside. 

"  Close  that  door !  "  he  commanded  sharply,  pulling 
it  shut  for  her.  "  I  want  to  talk  to  you.  You  've 
made  a  fool  of  me.  I  'm  tired  of  being  rolled  into 
a  flat  ribbon  by  the  steam-roller  of  your  colossal  self- 
ishness. /  'm  the  mud !  I  've  known  from  the  be- 
ginning that  I  was  mud  under  your  feet.  Your  little 
feet  have  trampled  so  many  men  that  one  more 
or  less  does  n't  count !  You  laugh  afterward,  while 
they  writhe.  That's  the  kind  of  woman  you  are! 
You  led  me  to  think  you  were  the  beautiful  person  I 
wanted  to  think  you  were.  You  were  full  of  fine 
sympathy  for  my  poor  plans  to  be  better  than  the  world 
around  me.  I  know  I  'm  a  fool !  You  've  proved 
that  to  me.  I  wrote  poetry  to  you  —  silly  poetry 
that  I  thought  expressed  something  of  what  you  meant 
to  me!  You  charmed  me  with  your  pretty  ways.  I 
thought  you  were  a  woman  to  be  worshipped.  I  put 
you  upon  a  high  pedestal  and  bowed  down  to  you. 
I  'm  only  twenty-one.  Don't  mention  that  to  me !  I 
know  I  'm  only  twenty-one.  But  my  twenty-one  is 
older,  in  some  ways,  than  Tom  Brandon's  thirty. 
You  know  that.  Thinking  and  knowing  is  what 


344  CASTE  THREE 

makes  a  man  old  or  young.  And  I  've  done  more 
thinking  in  my  twenty-one  years  than  Tom  Brandon 
or  any  of  his  kind  will  do  in  their  entire  lives.  I  'm 
not  throwing  bouquets  at  myself.  I  know  what  I  'm 
talking  about,  I  've  lived  within  myself  for  a  long 
time.  I  suppose  I  'm  a  kind  of  hermit,  and  that  I  'm 
not  used  to  the  light,  airy  ways  of  your  friends.  I  've 
always  been  deadly  serious.  I  take  things  hard. 
When  I  like  people,  I  like  them  forever.  As  you 
have  said,  I  don't  like  many  people.  But  when  I 
select,  I  choose  for  good  and  all  —  forever !  I  'm 
mad  about  you.  I  loved  you  from  the  first.  You 
were  different  from  any  one  I  had  ever  known.  You 
seemed  so  —  so  unprejudiced  and  open-minded  and 
clever.  But,  more  than  that,  you  were  so  interested 
in  the  things  I  love  better  than  life  itself.  You  were 
wise  and  kind;  and  sometimes  I  think  kindliness  is 
better  than  wisdom  itself.  Maybe  that 's  because  I 
am  a  weakling,  afraid  of  people  who  get  what  they 
want,  no  matter  who  's  hurt.  I  would  have  done  any- 
thing for  you !  I  would  have  sold  my  soul,  like  Faust. 
I  crawled  on  the  ground  when  I  thought  I  had  mis- 
judged you.  I  lay  awake  at  night,  when  I  felt  you 
had  become  bored  with  me,  thinking  up  ways  to  win 
back  your  interest.  I  —  I  've  cried  at  night  over  you ! 
I  realized  I  was  only  a  little  part  of  your  life  —  so 
small  that  I  could  disappear  without  your  noticing  it. 
I  've  wanted  to  die,  so  that  you  would  come  and  stand 
over  me  with  tenderness  in  your  eyes, —  the  way  you 
looked  at  me  once  or  twice  before  you  had  taken  all 


CASTE  THREE  345 

you  wanted  of  me.  I  wish  I  were  dead  to-night! 
You  've  taken  away  all  the  interest  I  used  to  have  in 
myself!  Nothing  counts  now  but  you,  Mary!"  He 
leaned  closer,  so  that  his  eyes  blazed  into  hers.  "  And 
now,  to-night,  you  fling  that  note  into  my  face,  that 
note  about  mud!  I  wrote  that  note  because  you 
maddened  me.  I  love  you!  Day  and  night  I  think 
about  you.  You  go  'round  and  'round  in  my  mind, 
when  I  try  to  think.  I  can't  read  poetry  any  more. 
I  can't  even  keep  you  out  of  my  science.  Nothing 
matters  any  more,  except  you.  And  now  you  tell  me 
I  can  '  go  on  to  fairer  gardens.'  There  are  no  fairer 
gardens.  There  are  no  other  gardens  in  the  world! 
All  the  rest  of  the  world  is  only  ashes  in  my  mouth. 
Nothing  makes  any  difference  to  me,  except  you! 
But  I  'm  done  with  you  —  to-night !  You  '11  never 
again  call  me  with  your  devilish,  intimate  voice,  and 
have  me  answer.  I  'm  through !  No,  I  'm  not  quite 
through.  I  'm  going  to  kiss  you.  I  've  not  dared 
to  do  that  for  months,  poor  fool  that  I  am!  You 
have  n't  been  worth  a  minute  of  devotion.  I  'm  mad ! 
I  know  it !  " 

Hewitt  took  her  in  his  arms,  while  Mary  fought, 
helpless  before  the  strength  his  fury  gave  him.  He 
kissed  her  again  and  again.  He  hurt  her  with  his 
strong  hold.  In  the  end  she  stopped  fighting  against 
him  and  lay  inert,  her  eyes  closed. 

The  heaviness  of  her  relaxed  body  brought  Hewitt 
to  his  senses.  He  released  her  so  suddenly  that  she 
fell  back  against  the  door,  where  she  stood  looking 


346  CASTE  THREE 

at  him  with  puzzled,  horror-stricken  eyes.  There  was 
surprise  in  her  eyes,  too. 

He  leaned  his  forehead  against  the  cool  wood  of 
the  door-casing,  and  his  arms  hung  limply  at  his  sides. 
His  mouth  twitched,  and  tears  rolled  down  his  cheeks. 
Gradually  the  sight  of  his  emotion  changed  her 
wonder  to  something  like  pity.  She  touched  his  arm. 

"  Hewitt !  "  Mary  said  gently. 

"  Hewitt ! "  she  repeated,  when  he  did  not  move. 

He  looked  at  her,  his  face  twitching. 

They  stood  looking  at  each  other  for  a  long  time, 
while  a  breeze  crept  stealthily  through  the  night,  wav- 
ing the  vines  hanging  from  the  veranda  pillars  and 
ruffling  their  hair.  Hewitt  appeared  weak  and  ex- 
hausted. He  leaned  forward  at  last,  and  then 
straightened  himself. 

"  Sit  down  on  the  steps,"  Mary  said.  "  We  must 
talk." 

He  sat  down,  looking  dazedly  at  the  trees  on  the 
lawn,  with  his  chin  on  his  hands. 

"  Hewitt,"  Mary  began,  sitting  beside  him  so  that 
her  arm  touched  his,  "  I  am  sorry." 

He  glanced  quickly  around  at  her,  and  then  resumed 
his  contemplation  of  the  trees. 

"  I  did  n't  know  you  felt  this  way." 

"  I  told  you  that  I  loved  you.' 

"  Most  boys  would  n't  have  taken  it  so  hard.  You 
are  different,  I  suppose.  Most  young  men  love  and 
get  over  it." 

Hewitt  shook  his  head.     She  went  on: 


CASTE  THREE  347 

"  I  did  n't  understand.  I  thought  you  were  like 
the  others.  I  was  sorry  afterward  that  I  let  you  kiss 
me  that  night  the  lights  went  out.  But  I  did  like  you. 
I  am  interested  in  you."  And  then,  after  a  little 
silence,  "  I  did  n't  want  to  hurt  you." 

"Not  lately,"  returned  Hewitt.  "You  haven't 
been  interested  in  me.  You  never  were,  after  the 
first  few  weeks.  I  was  strange,  and  when  I  stopped 
being  that,  and  you  saw  that  I  was  just  an  ordinary 
person,  you  wanted  no  more  of  me.  It  made  me  sick 
—  the  day  you  and  Katherine  Miller  came  in  and  you 
only  asked  as  an  afterthought  how  I  was  feeling." 
His  voice  was  weak.  "  I  felt  that  if  only  I  had  been 
like  Joe  Bales,  you  would  have  gone  on  being  in- 
terested. But  I  'm  only  a  reader.  I  '11  never  be  like 
those  other  men." 

"  You  are  a  great  deal  more  than  a  reader  of  books. 
I  don't  know  — "  Mary  stopped.  "  I  don't  know  why 
you  thought  I  had  lost  interest  in  you." 

They  were  silent  while  the  breeze  ruffled  their  hair 
again.  The  night  was  very  still ;  the  street  was  dark. 
A  light  in  the  house  across  the  way  went  out, —  the 
last  in  the  neighborhood.  The  echo  of  a  clanging 
street-car  down-town  came  to  them  through  the 
silence.  A  man  lurched  by,  paused  to  hold  on  to  the 
iron  fence  next  door,  and  then  tottered  on. 

Mary  held  out  her  hand  for  Hewitt  to  take.  He 
held  it  tightly  in  both  of  his. 

A  faint  stir  in  the  bushes  drew  their  attention  for 
a  moment,  but  it  passed. 


348  CASTE  THREE 

"  I  wish  you  were  older,  dear,"  she  said  after  a  long 
pause. 

"  I  am  twenty-one." 

But  Mary  shook  her  head. 

"  I  am  twenty-seven,"  she  said.  "  I  wish  you  were 
my  son,"  she  added,  with  a  touch  of  emotion. 

Hewitt  had  to  smile  at  this  remark. 

"  I  wish  I  had  a  baby,  Hewitt.  You  see  I  'm  the 
kind  of  woman  who  never  marries.  Men  don't  want 
to  marry  me, —  except  very  young  ones,"  she  added 
to  stop  his  protest.  "  There  have  to  be  some  women 
left,  I  suppose,  to  amuse  people.  I  do  amuse  people. 
That  is  why  they  like  me.  That 's  the  way  I  earn 
my  way.  I  am  hard,  so  people  who  don't  like  me  say. 
Do  you  think  I  have  n't  any  feeling,  Hewitt?  " 

"  I  have  thought  that  you  did  n't,"  he  returned 
quietly. 

"  Sometimes  I,  too,  think  I  have  n't.  All  the  feel- 
ing I  ever  had  I  have  fought  down.  People  don't 
want  to  see  your  heart.  They  just  want  to  be  amused. 
They  prefer  you  hard  and  bright.  Then  you  are 
clever;  you  amuse  them." 

Her  fixed  gaze  was  calm  when  Hewitt  turned  to 
look  at  her.  His  first  thought  —  that  an  unhappy 
love-affair  had  brought  her  to  this  point  of  view  — 
he  knew  to  be  wrong.  She  was  not  sad  because  people 
wanted  her  to  amuse  them;  there  was  no  tragedy 
here.  She  was  merely  speaking  of  a  course  she  had 
chosen  for  herself. 

"  But  sometimes  I  think  it  is  too  bad  I  can't  be 


CASTE  THREE  349 

married  and  have  a  baby,"  Mary  continued.  "  Some 
people  think  a  woman's  right  to  have  children  ought 
to  allow  her  to  have  them  out  of  wedlock.  That 
would  make  society  impossible,  of  course.  No,  I 
would  n't  do  that.  I  like  to  be  with  people  too  well. 
I  shall  never  have  a  baby,  Hewitt.  Perhaps  if  I  had 
one,  I  would  n't  love  it  at  all.  Sometimes  I  can't  love 
anything.  The  power  seems  to  come  and  go  with 
me." 

"  I  know,"  he  said.  "  I  realized  that  was  how  you 
were  acting  with  me." 

Mary  frowned. 

"  Are  n't  people  queer,  Hewitt?  " 

"  All  of  us,"  he  replied  gloomily. 

"  I  should  like  to  love  everybody.  I  want  every- 
body to  love  me."  He  felt  now  that  she  had  stopped 
idealizing  herself,  even  to  herself,  and  was  trying  to 
be  frankly  truthful.  "  I  love  admiration  and  atten- 
tion. I  suppose  we  all  do.  But  with  me  it 's  an 
obsession.  I  have  always  been  that  way.  I  try  to 
make  people  in  general  love  me,  not  only  the  men. 
I  spend  tons  of  energy  a  month  trying  to  make  them 
love  me.  Sometimes  it 's  not  hard.  But  then,  when 
I  am  sure  of  them,  I  want  to  make  new  ones  like  me." 

Hewitt  understood. 

"  Hewitt,  if  you  could  only  go  on  loving  me,  dear, 
and  not  mind  the  gaps  in  my  affection!  I  am  just 
myself.  Emotion  is  hard  to  guide.  Because  I  love 
you  one  day  is  no  surety  that  I  will  the  next.  Some- 
times I  love  —  well,  the  '  Joe  Bales '  kind  of  man. 


350  CASTE  THREE 

And  at  other  times  I  love  your  kind.  That  is  the  kind 
of  woman  I  am." 

She  smiled,  with  an  attempt  to  erase  the  nearness 
to  sentiment  of  her  speech,  but  the  smile  faded  before 
the  odd  intensity  of  Hewitt's  expression. 

"  I  love  so  many  people,"  Mary  concluded,  "  and 
never  all  of  them  at  the  same  time." 

Hewitt  stood  up  and  stretched  his  arms  over  his 
head,  as  though  he  were  making  sure  they  would 
work  at  his  command.  Mary  arose,  too.  He  drew 
her  close  to  him  and  examined  her  face  by  the  dim 
light  before  he  kissed  her. 

"  I  can  live  on  this  for  a  long  time,"  he  said  sadly. 
"  You  may  love  the  '  Joe  Bales  '  kind  to-morrow,  and 
I  shall  understand.  I  don't  think  I  will  get  angry 
with  you  again.  Maybe,  when  I  go  away  from  Alston, 
I  can  stop  loving  you." 

"  This  has  been  worth  all  the  torture,"  he  said  later, 
when  he  let  her  go.  "  I  am  glad  I  went  mad."  He 
laughed,  and  opened  the  door  for  her.  "  Good-night, 
Mary." 

When  he  reached  home  Hewitt  went  softly  to  his 
room  and  undressed  without  turning  on  the  light. 
He  was  still  quiveringly  wide-awake.  He  sat  down 
on  his  bed.  He  felt  as  though  his  system  had  been 
cleared  of  a  poison  that  had  produced  miseries  and 
furies,  a  misery  which  was  now  dissolved  in  a  vivid 
content.  He*  was  happier  than  he  ever  remembered 
to  have  been,  even  though  he  knew  that  to-morrow 
—  no,  not  to-morrow ;  not  so  soon  as  that,  but  before 


CASTE  THREE  351 

long  —  she  would  again  be  the  old  Mary  and  Hewitt 
a  mere  incident. 

The  third  Hewitt  was  conquered,  he  thought.  Love 
was  just  what  you  made  it, —  returned  or  tolerated. 
You  could  be  happy  with  it  if  you  chose.  It  should 
never  again  make  a  coward  and  a  hater  of  him,  so 
Hewitt  told  himself. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

fT^HE  third  Hewitt  was  not  dead,  as  he  supposed, 
J[  however.  He  was  temporarily  eliminated  from 
the  race,  but  he  convalesced  later,  although  he  never 
did  flourish  as  of  old.  Nevertheless,  the  evening  upon 
which  this  ego  suffered  partial  eclipse  was  not  with- 
out its  immediate  effect  upon  the  life  of  the  composite 
person  called  Hewitt  Stevenson.  There  are  ways  and 
ways  of  conquering  old  habits.  Hewitt  decided,  while 
still  under  the  influence  of  the  ecstasy  of  that  night 
when  Mary  had  attempted  explanation  of  herself, 
that  to  put  Mary  out  of  the  center  of  his  life  would 
be  a  good  move,  a  hard  move,  but  a  move  worth  the 
trouble.  One  needed  a  spiked  German  helmet  to  deal 
with  walls  such  as  lay  between  him  and  Mary,  the  wall 
of  her  intermittent  interest,  and  Hewitt's  distant 
Irish  ancestry  made  a  selection  of  such  headgear  im- 
probable. His  head  was  the  kind  likely  to  feel  soft 
and  bruised  after  an  encounter  with  stone  walls. 

Being  in  love  would  n't  be  such  a  serious  matter,  if 
one  had  the  hardihood  to  step  out  of  it  as  though  out 
of  a  fair  but  no  longer  useful  garment,  leaving  it  to 
lie  in  beautiful  folds  on  the  floor  while  one  ran  on. 
Not,  however,  to  run  to  fairer  gardens.  There  were 
no  fairer  gardens.  (This  was  the  morning  after  the 

352 


CASTE  THREE  353 

explosion  and  there  was  a  consequent  clearing  of  the 
air.)  But  there  were  other  gardens  or  fields  or  what 
you  will.  At  any  rate,  one  must  go  on. 

Books  had  lost  their  hold  upon  Hewitt.  In  these 
days  they  no  longer  offered  the  solace  of  the  period 
before  he  had  begun  living  according  to  Mary's  ideas 
of  what  living  should  consist.  Novels  bored  him. 
They  were  for  people  who  were  not  ready  to  live,  or 
for  those  whose  living  was  in  the  past,  a  panorama  to 
be  contemplated  through  the  revived  emotions  the 
novelist  presented  to  one.  Science  seemed  to  require 
more  concentration  than  he  could  bring  to  any  labor. 
Mary  remained  a  very  disturbing  element  in  his  exist- 
ence. 

1  Hewitt  decided  that  play  was  what  he  needed.  He 
wished  for  some  of  that  old  care-free  joy  in  existence 
which  had  been  his  on  the  farm  and  in  Chicago,  when 
he  and  Paul  had  taken  jaunts  to  the  parks  and  the 
Indiana  sand-dunes  and  lakeside  resorts.  He  had 
buried  himself  long  enough  in  an  emotion  which 
alternately  transfused  itself  into  a  heaven  and  a  hell. 
He  wanted  back  his  youth's  birthright. 

Alston  was  a  pleasant  place,  if  one  were  not  dis- 
gustingly critical.  One  man  could  not  make  over  a 
community  in  a  month  or  a  year  by  finding  fault  with 
it.  Words  were  inefficacious  in  such  a  situation,  even 
if  one  were  willing  to  dedicate  oneself  solely  to  the 
task  of  transforming  Alston,  Indiana,  child  of  the 
Middle  West,  into  something  —  Hewitt  had  no  blue- 
prints of  an  ultimate  Alston, —  more  satisfactory  to 


354  CASTE  THREE 

the  mind.  Let  well  enough  alone.  In  time  it  would 
become  introspective  and  find  itself. 

Meantime,  it  might  be  a  good  thing  for  Hewitt  to 
find  himself. 

The  world,  he  decided,  was  an  immense  horn  of 
plenty,  Mr.  Hardy  and  others  both  ancient  and 
modern  to  the  contrary  notwithstanding.  One  could 
not  pluck  all  the  fruits.  One  must  choose.  One  must 
pay. 

This  paying  business  was  what  bothered  most 
people,  especially  the  young  of  the  species.  They  did 
not  want  to  pay.  They  wanted  to  smile  at  the  tall, 
stately,  meagerly  dressed  lady  holding  the  horn,  and 
have  her  at  once  unload  generously  into  their  laps, 
made  more  capacious  by  the  holding  out  of  voluminous 
aprons  fond  mothers  had  made  ample  in  the  beginning. 
They  wanted  a  great  deal  of  juicy,  luscious  fruit,  with 
no  vegetables,  and  they  did  not  want  to  pay  for  the 
fruit.  One  lost  one's  delicate  taste  if  one  labored  for 
coin  with  which  to  pay.  Fruits  in  variety  and  plenty 
were  presented  for  choice.  If  one  had  a  banana  taste, 
which  Hewitt  did  not, —  he  loathed  bananas  with  an 
awful  hatred,  as  food  for  train  day-coaches  on  summer 
Sunday  afternoons, —  one  picked  out  a  banana  and 
gave  the  lady  holder-of-the-horn  a  penny  or  a  dime, 
or  whatever  bananas  were  selling  for.  If  one  pre- 
ferred pineapples,  one  also  paid  the  current  price. 
It  was  the  same  with  grape-fruit,  plums,  figs,  or  any 
other  fruit. 

In  August,    1913,   Hewitt  recognized  that  he  had 


CASTE  THREE  355 

been  crying  out  for  three  kinds  of  fruit.  He  had 
wanted  to  be  intellectual,  to  be  social,  and  to  have 
Mary  Young  exclusively  to  himself.  He  had  already 
tested  the  quinine  bitterness,  combined  with  the  satis- 
fying firm  tartness,  of  the  grape-fruit  of  intellectual- 
ism.  He  knew  that  he  liked  grape-fruit;  but  then,  a 
steady  diet  in  youth,  even  of  most  delicious  fruit,  be- 
comes tiresome  if  there  is  no  variety.  He  would  now 
sample  figs,  fresh  figs.  One  often  did  not  like  them 
at  first,  he  understood.  He  would  try  them  again. 
And  the  price?  The  meagerly  clad  lady  smiled 
enigmatically. 

"  You  may  pay  for  this  fruit  according  to  your 
means,"  she  seemed  to  say.  "  The  largest  and  best 
figs  come  high.  We  have,  however,  a  medium-priced 
fig  and  a  cheap  fig.  Which  will  you  have?  " 

Hewitt  was  cautious  because  of  his  training  in  a 
work-a-day  world  and  because  of  his  experience  with 
fruit-vendors  in  Chicago.  He  decided  upon  a 
medium-priced  fig,  and  asked  the  price.  The  lady 
studied  him.  Then  she  whispered  in  his  ear,  causing 
him  to  start. 

"Is  that  a  meduim-priced  fig?"  he  stuttered. 

The  lady  smiled  her  affirmation,  and  he  purchased, 
wondering  whether  it  was  worth  the  price.  But  Mary 
Young  had  to  be  defeated,  the  Mary  who  occupied  his 
mind  to  the  exclusion  of  all  else. 

As  a  result  of  this  buying,  one  August  evening 
found  Hewitt,  a  fourth  Hewitt  who  was  determined 
to  be  like  other  people  —  by  which  he  meant  like  Joe 


356  CASTE  THREE 

Bales  —  and  to  enjoy  the  fleeting  moments  just  as 
other  people  did,  standing  against  the  soda-fountain 
in,  Becker's  cigar-store.  His  elbows  rested  on  the 
marble  and  his  feet  were  crossed.  He  was  standing 
unabashed,  at  his  ease,  comfortable.  At  least,  he 
looked  that  way. 

In  reality,  Hewitt  was  introspecting  and  smiling  in- 
wardly. He  knew  that  he  wished  he  were  in  his 
room  reading  or  continuing  his  conversation  with  Mr. 
Smith  on  socialism,  which,  naturally  enough,  Mr. 
Smith  thought  was  all  tommy-rot  and  akin  to  anarchy. 
But  Hewitt  was  not  the  owner  of  grape-fruit. 

He  bought  a  "  tin  roof."  This  was  not  real  prop- 
erty, but  ice-cream  decorated  with  chocolate  syrup  and 
peanuts  in  their  brown  skins.  Hewitt  hated  it,  but  it 
was  a  popular  concoction  and  he  was  willing  to  go  the 
limit  with  figs.  Becker's  store  sold  hundreds  of  "  tin 
roofs  "  a  day.  It  was  the  thing  in  Alston. 

Bob  Hawtrey  had  just  strolled  in  and  was  light- 
ing a  cigar  across  the  room  at  the  patent  cigar-lighter. 
He  blew  out  huge  clouds  of  smoke  and  settled  him- 
self in  a  position  similar  to  Hewitt's  to  watch  the 
crowds  going  back  and  forth  along  Meridian  Street 
to  the  picture-shows.  Joe  Bales  came  in.  He  began 
a  cigarette  before  he  noticed  his  former  fellow- 
worker. 

"Hello,  Stevenson!     Have  a  cigarette?" 

"  Thanks,"  said  Hewitt,  reaching  for  the  silver  case. 
He  lighted  it  and  watched  it  flicker  up  and  down  as 
he  drew  on  it. 


CASTE  THREE  357 

"Anything  doing  to-night?"  he  queried,  with  ad- 
mirable ease. 

"  Date,"  said  Joe.  "  Fix  me  a  '  tin  roof/  Cobb," 
he  called  to  the  white- jacketed  boy  at  the  fountain. 

Silent  puffing  and  eating  followed. 

"  If  you  have  a  date  you  'd  better  get  to  it,"  put  in 
Bob  Hawtrey,  without  taking  the  trouble  to  glance  at 
Joe.  "  It 's  eight-thirteen." 

"  I  'm  not  in  such  a  hurry.  Helen  has  a  guest,  and 
I  've  got  to  entertain  'em  both.  So  I  should  worry 
about  hurry,"  Joe  answered.  "  Say,  Bob,"  he  added, 
"  why  don't  you  come  and  have  a  date  with  that  girl? 
She 's  from  Fort  Wayne.  Good  looking,  too.  Only 
going  to  be  here  a  few  days ;  so  you  need  n't  be  afraid 
Helen  '11  rope  you  for  another  with  her.  Come  on !  " 

"  Can't.  I  'm  going  to  the  movies  and  then  home 
to  bed.  I  've  been  tearing  'round  all  week." 

"Quitter!" 

"  That 's  right.  I  'm  going  to  be  in  bed  by  nine- 
thirty.  Here  goes  now  for  the  show."  He  was  at 
the  door,  when  voices  coming  in  at  the  back  from 
the  pool-room  caused  him  to  stop. 

"  Hello,  boys,"  he  said. 

"  Heard  about  Tom  Brandon?  "  called  one. 

"No;  what?" 

"  Arrested  in  Chicago  for  speeding.     A  big  fine." 

"  Mary  won't  go  to  Indianapolis  so  often,"  said 
another,  with  a  slight  sneer. 

"Mary  who?" 

"  Mary  Young.     I  saw  them  at  the  '  Claypool '  on 


358  CASTE  THREE 

Monday  night.  They  're  down  there  so  often  that  — " 
He  shrugged,  and  turned  to  buy  a  cigar. 

Bob  frowned. 

"  Soft  pedal,  you  boob!  You  want  to  keep  off  the 
subject  of  a  girl  like  Mary  Young  in  a  place  like 
this."  He  glanced  quickly  at  Hewitt,  who  was  gazing 
out  the  window  and  trying  to  remain  unaware  of  the 
fiery  red  that  was  surging  into  his  face  and  neck. 

"Shut  up!"  Bob  finished. 

"  You  know,"  continued  the  other,  inferring  that 
he  did  not. 

"  I  ought  to." 

"  All  right.     You  know,"  persisted  the  other. 

Hewitt's  face  continued  to  blaze.  He  hoped  they 
did  not  notice,  since  this  was  not  the  eighteenth  cen- 
tury when  men  ran  other  men  through  for  such 
innuendo  as  that.  He  was  relieved  when  Bob  and 
three  of  the  newcomers  went  across  the  street  toward 
a  moving-picture  show.  Joe  had  finished  his  "  tin 
roof  "  and  was  buying  more  cigarettes.  When  he  had 
flung  his  money  on  the  counter,  he  turned  to  Hewitt. 

"  Say,  Stevenson,  you  took  Mary  Young  over  to  the 
Hawtreys  the  other  night,  did  n't  you  ?  " 

Hewitt  nodded. 

"  She  's  a  fine  girl.  She  's  too  firm  here  to  be  hurt 
by  what  a  cigar-store  loafer  says  about  her.  Tom  's 
tough  as  the  king  of  spades,  but  everybody  knows 
what  Mary  is." 

Hewitt  dropped  his  crossed  foot  and  strolled  toward 
the  door.  That  swine  of  a  George  Rowe!  Eleanor 


CASTE  THREE  359 

Rowe's  brother !  Lots  of  business  he  had  to  be  cast- 
ing sneers  at  Mary  Young!  So  this  was  what  figs 
brought  him  to  —  listening  to  slander  against  Mary 
in  a  corner  cigar-store!  He  had  his  hand  on  the 
screen-door,  preparatory  to  taking  back  figs  to  the 
stately  lady  who  had  let  him  buy  them  without  trying 
to  persuade  him  that  they  were  not  worth  the  price, 
when  Joe  caught  him  by  the  arm  in  a  friendly  grasp. 
"  Why  don't  you  come  and  have  that  date,  Stevenson? 
Helen  told  me  to  get  somebody.  Come  on!  I  did  n't 
think  about  your  caring  for  girls  before." 

Hewitt  hesitated.  Should  he  walk  out  into  the 
country  and  continue  his  psalm  of  hate  against  a  town 
that  would  house  and  be  friendly  with. a  swine  like 
Rowe,  or  should  he  give  the  figs  a  further  chance  ? 

"  All  right,  I  '11  go,"  he  said  finally. 

Hewitt  continued  to  pay  for  his  chosen  fruit.  He 
endured  the  agony  of  remaining  nonchalant  under  the 
critical  scrutiny  of  Helen  Baxter  and  her  guest.  He 
talked  and  laughed ;  he  chattered  and  made  jests.  The 
guest  admired  him  to  Helen  when  they  went  into 
the  house  to  get  their  hats,  preparatory  to  going  down- 
town. 

"Awfully  good  looking  and  clever,  isn't  he?"  she 
whispered. 

"  I  did  n't  suppose  he  was  so  lively.  Mary  Young 
says  he  is  awfully  brilliant,"  Helen  told  her. 

If  figs  could  only  be  paid  for  all  at  once,  Hewitt 
groaned  within  himself !  This  constant  drain  of  talk ! 
This  unceasing  interest  in  passing  trivialities!  This 


360  CASTE  THREE 

mirthful  jesting  with  a  girl  you  mentally  put  down  as 
a  high  school  light-weight  who  caught  only  half  your 
subtleties  and  then  mangled  them!  How  wonderful 
Mary  was !  She  was  an  intellectual.  Compared  with 
this  girl  from  Fort  Wayne,  she  was  a  Madame  de 
Stael,  a  George  Eliot  among  women !  He  had  needed 
this,  he  decided,  to  make  him  entirely  appreciative  of 
Mary.  It  was  the  death  rattle  of  the  third  Hewitt, 
as  it  were.  And  then  he  remembered  that  he  was 
doing  this  to  forget  Mary. 

In  the  semi-darkness  of  the  movie-house  they 
fumbled  blindly  for  seats,  and  at  length  found  four 
into  which  they  crowded.  They  went  in  front  of  a 
fat  man  and  his  fat  wife,  who  widened  the  space  be- 
tween her  knees,  but  did  not  get  up. 

"  Heavens !  "  moaned  the  girl  from  other  parts.  "  I 
nearly  killed  myself  getting  by  that  woman's  knee." 

"Want  a  bandage?"  Hewitt  laughed,  presenting 
her  with  his  handkerchief. 

"No.  I  turned  my  ankle,  I  think.  It  hurts 
awfully!" 

"  Use  the  handkerchief  to  weep  into,  then ;  I  won't 
care  if  you  do  get  it  wet."  Hewitt  felt  ridiculous  say- 
ing such  things,  but  his  sally  brought  a  smile  from  the 
girl. 

The  strange  thing  about  the  whole  affair  was  that 
by  the  time  they  started  into  the  drug-store  "  to  eat," 
as  Joe  put  it,  he  began  to  like  being  social.  Hewitt 
managed  that  entire  part  of  the  programme,  even  to 
drawing  out  the  chairs  for  the  girls  and  conducting  the 


CASTE  THREE  361 

selection  of  food.  Joe  had  stopped  at  the  door  to 
speak  to  some  girls  who  confronted  him. 

"  Where  's  Joe?  "  Helen  pouted. 

"  You  're  losing  him,"  her  guest  assured  her,  and 
threw  a  little  wink  at  Hewitt. 

"  I  'm  always  losing  him.  I  've  lost  him  weekly 
for  years.  Joe  and  I  have  the  most  irregular  *  case ' 
in  Alston.  Sometimes  we  're  on,  but  generally  we  're 
off.  He  's  had  a  dozen  other  cases  since  we  started 
ours  in  high  school." 

"  And  you?  "  Hewitt  questioned. 

"  So  have  I,"  she  admitted,  smiling. 

More  "  tin  roofs  "  seemed  to  be  in  order,  although 
Hewitt  drew  the  line  on  permanently  entering  the 
roof -contracting  business,  as  he  put  it  with  splendid 
success. 

When  Joe  re-entered  the  group  Hewitt  felt  de  trap, 
because  the  three  talked  about  a  dance  which  he  did  n't 
know  anything  about,  but  he  refused  to  allow  himself 
the  pleasure  of  introspection  and  kept  firmly  to  the 
artificial  action  he  was  demanding  of  himself. 

While  the  four  were  in  earnest  consultation  over 
the  best  way  to  spend  the  remainder  of  the  evening, 
the  Pattons  and  Mary  Young  came  in,  and  before 
Hewitt  had  time  to  wonder  at  Mary's  apparently  un- 
escorted condition,  Tom  Brandon  followed  them  and 
sat  down  at  their  table. 

What  the  four  of  which  Hewit  formed  a  part  did 
during  the  remainder  of  the  evening  suddenly  became 
unimportant.  Mary  nodded  to  him  and  smiled  with 


362  CASTE  THREE 

her  normal  eagerness.  She  wore  a  corsage  of  yellow 
daisies,  a  queer  cultivated  variety,  combined  with 
some  fluffy  blue  flowers.  The  whole  rested  against 
the  background  of  her  old-blue  dress. 

"  That 's  a  good-looking  dress  of  Mary  Young's, 
is  n't  it?  "  Helen  Baxter  commented  in  a  low  tone. 

"  Beloved  of  Stevenson's  heart,"  added  Joe,  with  a 
sly  wink  at  Hewitt. 

The  assumed  brilliancy  of  the  social,  as  represented 
by  Joe  and  his  female  companions,  dimmed  and  be- 
came dullness  to  Hewitt,  who  was  ashamed  to  watch 
the  table  where  Mary  sat,  yet  was  unable  to  keep  his 
thoughts  away  from  it.  He  recognized  that  if  Mary 
had  been  in  his  place,  she  would  have  given  attention 
to  Helen  and  Joe  and  the  Fort  Wayne  girl  to  the 
exclusion  of  all  else.  Part  of  the  charm  Mary  had 
for  so  many  people  was  due,  no  doubt,  to  this  faculty 
for  being  irreproachably  interested  in  the  group  of 
which  she  was  a  member.  Rules  again.  She  never 
let  even  the  fringes  of  her  mind  be  concerned  with 
others. 

Hewitt  tried  not  to  make  his  smile  wistful  as  he 
passed  Mary  in  going  out,  but  something  of  that  ele- 
ment must  have  been  in  it,  for  she  held  his  eyes  for 
a  second  and  tried,  so  he  thought,  to  remind  him  that 
there  was  a  bond  between  them,  an  intimate  knowledge 
of  each  other  which  she  could  never  have  in  common 
with  those  whom  she  only  amused.  A  ripple  of  fresh 
emotion  enveloped  Hewitt.  It  was  as  though  a  veil 


CASTE  THREE  363 

between  them  had  been  rent  and  they  had  looked  into 
each  other's  souls. 

When  he  left  Joe  on  the  corner  of  Eleventh  Street 
at  eleven-thirty,  Hewitt's  thoughts  flew  swiftly  back 
to  Mary.  He  rehearsed  a  dozen  times  her  entrance 
into  the  drug-store,  her  bright  nod  to  him,  the  wave 
of  her  hand,  that  look  she  had  given  him  as  he  went 
out.  She  had  not  forgotten  yet.  She  did  love  him 
in  her  own  way.  She  was  a  rare  woman  from  whom 
any  kind  of  affection  must  be  welcomed  and  cherished. 

Presently  his  memory  of  her  became  hot  with 
George  Rowe's  sneering  remark  in  the  cigar-store. 
Was  she  duping  him  into  thinking  there  was  no  one 
who  counted,  with  every  one  held  at  the  same  arm's 
length,  while  she  gave  to  only  one  ?  A  red  mist  blew 
before  his  eyes  and  blinded  him,  but  he  turned  his 
fury  against  George  Rowe.  The  dirty  worm!  It 
could  n't  be  true !  She  was  too  fine  for  that !  Yet 
did  he  expect  her  to  tell  him,  at  twenty-one,  that  her 
worldly  relations  were  even  more  complicated  than 
he  had  even  in  his  darkest  moments  imagined?  It 
could  n't  be  true.  Joe  had  said  that  Mary  was  too  firm 
in  Alston  to  be  hurt  by  what  a  cigar-store  loafer  said 
about  her,  and  Joe  knew.  Then  why  did  she  associate 
with  a  man  like  Tom  Brandon?  He  was  patently  a 
weakling.  Money  did  n't  destroy  that  fact.  But 
Hewitt  had  no  sooner  asked  the  question  than  it  an- 
swered itself.  Tom  Brandon's  position  in  Alston, 
despite  his  being  "  as  tough  as  the  king  of  spades," 


364  CASTE  THREE 

was  indisputably  sound.  He  could  have  committed 
anything  short  of  murder  without  endangering  it.  He 
was  the  pet  of  caste  three.  Mary  would  have  smiled 
and  turned  away,  if  she  had  heard  George  Rowe's 
insinuations.  She  would  not  even  have  been  angered. 

His  father  was  sitting  on  the  porch,  with  his  feet 
on  the  railing,  when  Hewitt  reached  home.  He  was 
leaning  back  in  a  rocking-chair,  and  the  reflection  from 
the  corner  street-light  played  upon  his  face.  He 
looked  tired.  He  sat  up  with  a  start  when  his  son 
stepped  near  his  chair,  and  he  blinked  like  an  owl  in 
the  light. 

"  What 's  the  matter,  Father?  " 

"  Nothing.  I  don't  seem  to  sleep  very  good  lately," 
his  father  said,  with  an  attempt  at  briskness. 

"Anything  wrong?" 

"No;  I  just  don't  sleep  good.  I'm  tired  out  all 
the  time.  I  'm  just  dead  all  the  time.  I  don't  have 
any  '  pep/  as  you  boys  say."  He  sank  back  and  closed 
his  eyes. 

"Don't  get  sick,"  Hewitt  said  kindly.  "Better 
come  in  and  go  to  bed  now.  It 's  about  twelve." 

"  I  guess  I  '11  sit  up  a  while  longer." 

"  Want  me  to  stay  down  ?  " 

"  What  for?  "  his  father  asked  promptly. 

"  Oh,  I  thought  I  might  sit  down  here  and  get  a 
little  sleepier  myself.  I  'm  pretty  wide  awake." 

"  You  go  to  bed,"  was  the  command,  issued  with 
pronounced  finality. 

In  a  few  days  Mr.  Stevenson  went  to  bed  and  stayed 


CASTE  THREE  365 

there.  He  did  n't  want  a  doctor.  He  was  just 
"  dead  tired  "  and  got  "  kind  o'  dizzy  "  when  he  stood 
up.  He  'd  just  stay  in  bed  and  get  over  it  "  right " 
before  winter  set  in.  This  being  August,  Hewitt  con- 
sidered that  his  father  was  looking  far  ahead,  but  he 
remained  silent  and  worried. 

Why  did  n't  his  father  have  a  doctor  and  find  out 
what  was  the  matter  with  him?  There  was  no  sense 
in  this  lagging  around,  weak  and  dizzy,  letting  nature 
take  care  of  itself.  Sometimes  nature  did  a  bad  job 
in  taking  care  of  itself.  Thus  Hewitt  expressed  his 
worry  to  himself.  He  always  grew  angry  when 
people  did  n't  do  what  he  thought  they  ought  to  do. 

He  conferred  with  Grace  about  it. 

"  I  'm  going  to  send  for  a  doctor.  I  think  father 
ought  to  have  one,"  he  declared. 

Grace  looked  at  him  with  that  mixture  of  contempt 
and  sympathy  Hewitt  remembered  from  other  occa- 
sions when  he  had  seemed  inclined  to  burden  himself 
with  managing  the  household. 

"  Don't  you  send  for  a  doctor.  It  won't  do  a  bit  of 
good.  Father  would  n't  let  a  doctor  near  him.  You 
know  that.  It 's  not  a  bit  of  use  bothering  him. 
He  's  exactly  like  your  grandfather,  dead  set  in  his 
ways.  Just  as  soon  as  he  gets  so  sick  that  he  thinks 
he  's  going  to  die,  he  '11  tell  me  to  send  for  a  doctor. 
Until  then,  it 's  no  use." 

It  took  three  days  in  bed  with  the  tired  feeling 
to  convince  Charles  Stevenson  that  a  doctor  might  help 
him. 


366  CASTE  THREE 

"  Get  a  middle-aged  one.  I  ain't  going  to  have  a 
young  one  experimenting  on  me.  I  don't  want 
Crane.  He  did  n't  do  anything  for  your  grandfather. 
I  won't  have  him." 

Hewitt  and  Grace  debated  the  matter  and  called 
in  a  middle-aged  physician  of  authority.  He  pro- 
nounced the  case  one  of  typhoid  fever  and  ordered  a 
trained  nurse. 

Grace  became  frighened,  and  for  the  first  time  with- 
in Hewitt's  memory  grew  hysterical.  She  ended  by 
laying  her  head  on  his  shoulder  and  sobbing  violently, 
while  Hewitt  patted  her  on  the  back,  because  that  was 
the  way  people,  the  feminine  portion  of  people,  were 
comforted  in  books,  while  he  wondered  what  she  would 
do  if  their  father  died.  She  would  never  go  to 
Chicago  to  live,  and  how  could  she  stay  here?  He 
was  instantly  ashamed  of  himself  for  projecting 
wonder  so  far  into  the  future.  His  father  was  not 
going  to  die.  He  had  typhoid  fever.  Well,  other 
men  had  had  typhoid  and  had  recovered.  The  prin- 
cipal thing  was  good  nursing,  and  he  would  have  that. 

Hewitt  talked  soothingly  to  Grace,  his  sympathy 
taking  the  form  of  "There!  No  use  worrying!" 
"  He  '11  be  all  right,"  "  Come  on,  now,  Grace.  No  use 
crying  about  it,"  and  so  on,  with  short  phrases  which 
proved  nothing,  but  comforted  Hewitt  into  thinking 
that  at  last  he  was  important  in  his  home.  Grace 
dabbed  at  her  eyes  nervously,  and  presently  went  back 
to  her  father's  room. 

The  nurse  took  full  charge  when  she  arrived.     The 


CASTE  THREE  367 

house  became  very  quiet  and  full  of  the  sick  man.  He 
dominated  all  else  while  he  lay  ill,  growing  thinner 
and  thinner  during  the  last  of  the  summer. 

Figs  and  grape-fruit  were  equally  scorned  during 
this  period  of  his  father's  illness.  At  times  Hewitt 
longed  to  talk  to  Mary,  but  he  seldom  saw  her.  It 
seemed  to  him  that  she  must  feel  that  after  the  night 
when  they  had  understood  each  other  there  was  no 
longer  a  reason  for  flattering  him  with  her  real  or 
feigned  attention  and  sympathy.  She  was  very  fond 
of  him  in  her  way.  It  was  not  Hewitt's  way.  She 
knew  the  depth  of  his  love  for  her.  Then  why  should 
they  see  each  other?  There  was  more  amusement 
to  be  had  with  those  whom  one  did  not  understand. 
The  game  was  an  exciting  game  —  the  social  game  — 
and  Hewitt  was  not  in  a  position  to  play  it  with  one 
of  Mary's  experience.  He  was  an  opponent  not 
worthy  of  her  best  weapons,  and  so  he  was  not  ex- 
hilarating to  play  with.  She  loved  him  in  her  way, 
but  she  did  not  care  to  play  with  him.  The  whole 
situation  narrowed  itself  down  to  that. 

Mary  came  into  the  store  several  times  with  Mrs. 
Fatten  or  Ernestine  or  Katherine  Miller.  She  always 
stopped  to  talk  to  Hewitt,  and  looked  into  his  eyes 
with  an  expression  which  said  that  they  understood, 
an  expression  which  never  lost  its  power  of  making 
him  feel  that  a  veil  between  their  souls  had  been  rent. 
He  did  not  tell  her  about  his  father's  illness.  It  would 
have  been  an  item  of  insignificance  to  her.  Besides, 
after  a  while  the  fact  of  having  a  sick  father  became 


368  CASTE  THREE 

commonplace  while  he  was  at  the  store,  as  all  events 
at  first  strange  and  terrifying  become  commonplace 
with  long  acquaintance.  He  grew  accustomed  to  tip- 
toeing into  the  house,  asking  how  his  father  was,  and 
going  to  the  door  to  look  in  at  him  where  he  lay  white 
and  thin  in  the  big  bed.  He  became  accustomed  to 
the  stillness  and  the  smell  of  medicine  in  the  house. 
Then,  sometimes  for  hours  at  a  time,  he  forgot  about 
his  father,  and  once  or  twice  he  wished  keenly  that  he 
would  get  well,  so  that  he  himself  could  eat  figs  again 
with  Joe  and  his  kind.  Joe  had  asked  Hewitt  to  have 
"  dates  "  with  girls  in  caste  three  on  several  occasions. 
His  staying  at  home  brought  him  back  to  his  old  habit 
of  reading.  Caste  three  did  not  often  exist  for  him. 
Once  or  twice  he  wrote  Mary  a  note  which  he  did  not 
send,  a  note  full  of  his  beloved  figures  of  speech,  but 
always  beautiful  figures  now.  The  sea  figure  fas- 
cinated him.  There  were  analogies  in  it  which  pos- 
sibly she  would  not  discern.  That  never-changing, 
for  instance.  Hewitt  felt  that  sailors  must  have  the 
same  feeling  of  having  irrevocably  cast  their  lot  with 
the  sea  as  he  had  of  being  endlessly  bound  up  with 
Mary,  no  matter  what  her  attitude.  And  in  time  it 
might  become  unimportant  whether  or  not  she  had  an 
attitude  toward  him.  His  love  for  her  would  be  too 
big  an  emotion  to  take  into  consideration  such  trifling 
personalities.  His  devotion  would  be  limited  not  by 
her,  but  only  by  his  own  capacity  for  feeling. 

This  feeling  possessed  him  when  he  had  been  read- 
ing poetry  and  was  overflowing  with  reflected  emo- 


CASTE  THREE  369 

tion.  Sometimes  it  seemed  to  him  that  he  loved  her 
more  since  he  had  formed  his  voluntary  refusal  to  be 
disturbed  by  her.  All  the  objectionable  features  in 
their  relationship  had  faded  away.  He  forgot  that 
she  was  superficial,  according  to  his  former  judgment, 
selfish,  a  devotee  of  the  rules  of  caste  three.  He  re- 
membered vividly  her  tricks  of  gesture,  the  look  from 
her  eyes,  her  artistically  smart  clothing.  Again  she 
walked  through  his  dreams  in  a  mist  of  romance,  a 
shrine  at  which  he  laid  the  essence  of  his  spirit. 

At  other  times  Hewitt  firmly  decided  that  when  his 
father  became  well  again  and  he  could  do  as  he  pleased, 
he  would  fling  himself  into  the  maelstrom  of  the 
younger  society  set  and  amuse  himself  as  Mary  did. 
He  would  drive  her  out  of  his  heart  by  the  sheer  force 
of  his  concern  with  amusement.  He  could,  if  he 
chose,  become  as  important  to  the  young  Alstonians  as 
she  was  to  the  older  ones. 

Then  a  reaction  of  feeling  made  Hewitt  certain  that 
he  wanted  no  one  except  Mary.  The  rhythm  of  emo- 
tion had  set  in. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

IN  the  midst  of  the  placidity  which  characterized  his 
life  after  his  understanding  with  Mary  Young,  a 
placidity  which  his  worry  over  his  father  could  not 
daunt,  because  his  feelings  were  less  wrapped  up  with 
his  father  than  with  Mary,  Hewitt  had  moments  of 
gnawing  discontent  with  the  flatness  of  existence.  He 
wondered  if  it  were  n't  better  to  be  ecstatic  and  then 
miserable,  than  to  live  along  on  the  planes  of  the  un- 
emotional. But  even  in  the  act  of  telephoning  Mary, 
in  order  that  he  might  again  talk  to  her  and  be  wracked 
by  the  pain  of  knowing  that  her  interest  in  him  was 
only  subsidiary  to  more  engrossing  ones,  a  filling  in 
of  spare  moments  when  caste  three  did  not  call,  his 
determination  to  retain  his  independence  conquered 
and  he  drew  back  into  his  shell.  Hewitt  rejected 
fire. 

He  went  home  one  night  during  the  latter  part  of 
August  to  find  his  father  delirious.  His  cries,  now 
faint  and  then  piercing,  filled  the  house.  Grace  was 
tense  with  fear,  but  mechanically,  with  tight  lips  that 
struck  Hewitt  as  being  grotesquely  out  of  keeping  with 
her  white  plumpness,  she  moved  in  and  out  of  the 
sick-room,  helping  the  nurse.  She  did  not  speak  to 
Hewitt  after  she  uttered  one  word  "  delirious !  "  to 
him  as  he  entered  the  kitchen.  He  bit  his  lip  and 

3?o 


CASTE  THREE  371 

leaned  against  the  wall  in  the  awkwardness  of  his 
youth.  In  a  crisis  at  the  store  Hewitt  would  have  been 
the  last  to  lose  his  ability  to  cope  with  it,  but  at  home, 
before  Grace's  mature  contempt  for  his  powers,  he 
relapsed  into  helplessness.  He  ate  the  supper  she  set 
out  for  him  on  the  scoured,  linenless  table,  and  then 
got  up  and  stood  looking  out  into  the  twilight,  his 
hand  on  the  door-casing. 

When  the  doctor's  voice  came  to  him  from  the  liv- 
ing-room, he  turned  and  followed  him  out  on  the  front 
veranda.  When  he  was  sure  that  Grace  had  returned 
to  the  bedroom  where  his  father  lay,  Hewitt  addressed 
the  doctor. 

"  Just  how  bad  is  he,  doctor?  "  he  asked,  taking  his 
hand  out  of  his  pocket  and  trying  to  show  his  concern. 

"  He  '11  pull  through,  I  hope." 

Dr.  Samson  was  a  small  man  with  a  Van  Dyke 
beard.  His  speech  was  so  abrupt  that  if  Alstonians 
had  not  known  him  to  be  a  sterling  doctor,  he  would 
have  angered  his  patients  and  lost  them.  As  it  was, 
they  expected  short,  sharp  retorts  to  their  questions. 
He  never  encouraged  relatives.  His  "  he  '11  pull 
through,  I  hope  "  was  worth  another  doctor's  "  he  's 
a  well  man." 

"But  he's  pretty  bad  to-night,  isn't  he?"  Hewitt 
persisted. 

"  He'll  pull  through."  With  that  remark  the  doc- 
tor was  off  the  porch  and  down  the  steps  into  his  elec- 
tric automobile.  He  glided  away,  and  Hewitt  re- 
turned his  restless  hands  to  his  pockets. 


372  CASTE  THREE 

He  walked  slowly  back  through  the  house  to  the 
kitchen-door  again,  and  stood  as  before  gazing  into 
the  gathering  darkness.  He  could  not  decide  what 
to  do  with  himself.  He  ended  by  calling  up  Mrs. 
Chancellor  and  asking  her  to  go  back  to  the  store  in 
his  place.  "  Father 's  pretty  bad,"  he  said  shortly, 
and  returned  to  the  door  again. 

Grace  came  in  after  darkness  had  settled  down. 
She  was  breaking  ice,  mashing  it  with  a  wooden 
weight. 

"  Let  me  do  that,"  Hewitt  said,  starting  toward  her. 

"  I  '11  do  it."  Without  another  word  Grace  con- 
tinued her  work,  and  then  went  out. 

The  cries  from  his  father's  room  had  died  down, 
but  his  voice  came  to  Hewitt  through  an  open  window. 
It  grew  louder  when  Grace  opened  the  door  in  passing 
in  and  out  of  the  sick-room.  He  was  talking  fast, 
about  something  that  had  happened  in  his  childhood. 
"  Mother !  "  he  screamed  suddenly,  and  Hewitt,  sitting 
on  the  back  step  leading  down  from  the  summer- 
kitchen,  shuddered.  What  a  hot,  sultry  night! 

He  walked  around  the  house  through  the  long 
grass.  "  Ought  to  be  cut,  this  grass,"  he  thought  ab- 
sently, kicking  at  it  with  his  toes.  He  looked  up  at 
the  sky,  unstarred  and  blue-black  with  the  presage  of 
rain.  He  sat  down  on  the  front  steps  and  watched 
a  mass  blacker  than  the  expanse  above  rise  slowly  out 
of  the  east  and  cover  the  heavens.  Vague  rumblings, 
far  away,  broke  the  stillness. 

"  Guess  it  '11  storm,"  he  thought. 


CASTE  THREE  373 

"  Goodness,  it 's  hot !  "  said  Grace's  voice  behind 
him.  "  Maybe,  if  it  'd  cool  off,  father  'd  get  better." 

"  Dr.  Samson  says  he  '11  pull  through,"  mused 
Hewitt,  as  though  to  himself. 

"  Goodness,  it 's  hot !  "  repeated  Grace,  and  he  knew 
that  she  was  passing  the  corner  of  her  apron  over  her 
forehead. 

He  wished  Grace  would  go  hack  into  the  house  and 
leave  him.  For  some  reason  he  resented  her  pres- 
ence. 

A  louder  rumble  of  thunder  brought  him  to  his  feet. 
It  startled  him.  He  sat  down  again,  angry  with  him- 
self. 

"  I  hope  it  does  rain/'  said  Grace,  and  came  to  the 
edge  of  the  steps  to  examine  the  prospect.  "  I  guess 
it  will." 

Fire  flared  up  behind  a  mass  of  clouds  in  the  east, 
bringing  out  their  rounded  outlines  with  distinctness. 
The  thunder  was  louder  this  time,  more  disturbing. 
The  windows  in  the  old  brick  house  rattled  in  unison 
with  it. 

Hewitt  arose  and  shook  himself.  Grace  went  back 
into  the  house,  and  he  felt  relieved. 

A  breeze  was  creeping,  as  though  reluctant  to  be 
there,  through  the  tops  of  the  trees  along  Jackson 
Street.  Then  a  flurry  of  wind  caught  Hewitt  squarely 
in  the  face,  and  he  drew  back,  he  could  not  have  said 
why,  under  the  doorway.  A  tree  close  by  suddenly 
bent  almost  double,  and  in  a  moment  stood  quietly 
upright  again. 


374  CASTE  THREE 

The  nurse,  Hewitt  saw,  was  standing  just  behind 
him.  She  was  smiling.  "  I  hope  it  cools  off,"  she 
said  pleasantly,  and  Hewitt  again  felt  ashamed  of  the 
nervousness  that  had  driven  him  back  into  the  door- 
way. He  walked  to  the  railing  to  examine  the  sky. 

Another  gust  of  wind  struck  his  forehead.  The 
mass  of  clouds,  higher  now,  again  stood  out  black 
against  a  vivid  flash  of  fire.  The  street-light  on  the 
corner  went  out  with  a  noisy  sputter,  and  the  blackness 
around  became  opaque,  thick  enough  to  cut. 

A  steady  wind  blew  against  Hewitt's  cheek,  fanning 
his  damp  hair  from  his  forehead  and  filling  his  lungs 
with  fresh  coolness.  Drops  of  rain  spattered  at  inter- 
vals, loud  as  hail-stones,  'on  the  roof  of  the  porch, 
and  presently  the  air  was  full  of  streaks  of  water 
blown  as  far  as  the  door,  cold  and  streaming  water. 
Hewitt,  backing  into  the  house,  heard  the  nurse  going 
into  his  father's  room,  and  presently  he  heard  the 
bang  of  a  dropping  window  up-stairs,  where  Grace 
was.  The  electric-light  globe,  hung  by  its  long  cord 
from  the  ceiling  of  the  hall,  swung  backward  and  for- 
ward with  clock-like  regularity  in  the  wind.  A  door 
upstairs  slammed. 

A  dead  silence,  a  silence  that  came  to  Hewitt  as  a 
pronounced  relief,  ensued  in  the  house.  There  was 
not  even  a  murmur  from  his  father's  bedroom.  He 
went  to  the  door  and  opened  it  carefully.  The  nurse, 
with  her  calm  face,  was  sitting  by  the  open  window, 
her  hands  crossed  in  her  lap,  her  face  turned  to  catch 
the  cool  wind  that  blew  into  the  room.  A  low  light 


CASTE  THREE  375 

burned  on  a  marble-topped  table  near  the  bed.  Dimly 
he  saw  his  father  stretched  upon  the  white-covered  bed, 
his  head  a  form  rather  than  a  color. 

The  nurse  rose  and  came  toward  Hewitt  with  her 
firm,  quiet  step. 

"  I  think  he  will  be  better  now,"  she  said.  "  He 
has  been  quiet  for  several  minutes.  The  crisis  has 
probably  passed." 

"  Dr.  Samson  said  he  would  pull  through,"  Hewitt 
murmured,  just  to  say  something. 

"  Yes,"  answered  the  nurse,  and  turned  to  pick  up 
the  clock  from  the  table. 

Hewitt  stood  for  a  few  minutes,  his  eyes  on  his 
father's  still  face,  while  the  nurse  poured  some  med- 
icine into  a  spoon  and  dropped  it  into  a  glass  of  water. 
Grace  appeared  in  the  doorway,  her  lips  set  perma- 
nently in  a  line  that  drooped  at  the  corners,  her  reddish 
hair  pulled  back  tight  from  her  forehead  and  gathered 
into  a  large  heavy  knot  at  the  back,  a  knot  which  gave 
the  appearance  of  being  precariously  placed  and  at 
any  moment  likely  to  fall  down  her  back  into  a  heavy, 
ugly  mass. 

Hewitt  turned  to  leave. 

"  You  go  to  bed,"  Grace  whispered  to  him  as  he 
passed,  hardly  opening  her  lips  to  form  the  words. 

Hewitt  did  not  answer  her.  He  walked  into  the 
living-room  and  sat  down  with  a  book  under  the 
reading-lamp.  But  he  could  not  follow  the  words. 
He  was  acutely  aware  of  the  whirl  of  driving  rain 
outside,  the  pattering  steps  of  Grace  in  the  kitchen, 


376  CASTE  THREE 

the  swinging  of  the  light  in  the  hall.  He  closed  the 
front  door.  The  carpet  was  getting  wet. 

He  went  into  the  kitchen  and  confronted  Grace  with 
a  touch  of  resentment. 

"  Look  here,  Grace,"  he  said  resolutely,  keeping  his 
voice  lower,  "  I  'm  going  to  stay  up  myself  to-night. 
You  must  go  to  bed.  You  've  kept  this  up  for  weeks. 
There  's  no  sense  in  it.  You  go  to  bed.  I  'm  going 
to  stay  up  myself." 

Grace  looked  at  him  steadily,  without  speaking. 

"  Go  to  bed,  Hewie,"  she  said  at  last,  gently.  "  You 
know  I  would  n't  sleep  a  wink.  Remember  you  have 
to  go  to  work  to-morrow." 

"  I  'm  going  to  stay  up,"  he  repeated  stubbornly, 
and  sat  down  with  his  book  again. 

The  rain  was  still  streaming  against  the  north  win- 
dows when  a  little  later  he  looked  at  his  watch. 
Hewitt  expected  to  find  the  hour  was  nine,  or,  at  the 
latest,  ten.  The  hands  pointed  to  two-thirty.  He  had 
been  asleep !  The  house  was  still.  There  was  not  a 
sound.  He  yawned  and  tiptoed  to  his  father's  door. 
The  nurse  was  at  the  table. 

"  He  's  sleeping  soundly ;  his  fever  is  down,"  she 
smiled  to  him.  "  He  's  all  right,"  she  added. 

Hewitt  was  awakened  by  the  sun  shining  through 
his  white  blinds  the  next  morning.  He  jumped  to  his 
feet,  to  find  his  alarm-clock  pointing  to  eight  fifteen. 
There  was  not  a  sound  in  the  house.  He  raised  his 
blinds  and  looked  upon  a  bright  green  world,  wet  and 
glistening.  It  was  a  glorious,  almost  cold  day,  one 


CASTE  THREE  377 

such  as  comes  at  long  intervals  in  August  in  Indiana. 
A  fat  robin  on  the  grass  was  splitting  his  throat  with 
his  shrill  call,  and  a  woodpecker  on  the  tin  eaves  was 
announcing  to  the  world  that  he  was  alive  and  well, 
and  working  hard. 

Hewitt  went  downstairs  in  his  bathrobe  for  a  cold 
tub.  He  felt  dull  and  lazy,  despite  the  clear  air  and 
a  night's  rest.  He  found  Grace  asleep  on  the  yellow 
plush-couch  in  the  dining-room.  A  quilt,  with  yellow 
tulips  distributed  regularly  over  its  stitched  white  sur- 
face, was  thrown  over  her.  Her  mouth  was  slightly 
open,  giving  a  comical  effect  to  her  chubby  face.  He 
went  upstairs  without  his  plunge,  afraid  to  turn  on 
the  water  in  the  bathroom  for  fear  of  waking  his 
father  and  the  nurse.  The  latter,  he  was  sure,  was 
asleep  in  the  room  that  had  been  his  grandfather's. 

On  the  seventh  of  September,  the  date  when  Hewitt 
was  to  have  left  for  Chicago,  his  father  was  sitting  up 
for  the  first  time.  He  was  cleanly  shaven,  and  there 
were  tremendous  hollows  in  his  cheeks.  His  hands, 
long  and  bony,  lay  inert  on  the  covers  at  the  end  of 
wrists  incredibly  thin. 

"  Of  course  I  can't  come,"  Hewitt  wrote  to  Paul, 
as  though  the  fact  were  accepted  with  no  regrets.  "  I 
will  stay  here  until  the  winter  term.  Father  's  pretty 
sick  still,  though  he  is  sitting  up.  The  nurse  says  he 
won't  be  able  to  walk  for  a  month,  and  then  he'  11  have 
to  learn  all  over  again,  like  a  child.  I  think  he  did  n't 
care  much  whether  he  pulled  through  or  not.  He  has 
been  rather  knocked  out  by  this  farm  business.  I 


378  CASTE  THREE 

don't  believe  he  has  ever  been  satisfied  since  he  sold 
out  and  moved  to  town.  That  idea  of  his,  that  it 
would  be  fine  to  be  retired,  with  no  pressing  work  to 
do,  seemed  all  wrong  after  he  had  tried  it  for  a  year, 
and  I  think  he  's  been  getting  more  and  more  run  down 
physically  for  ages. 

"  Sometimes,  Paul,  I  feel  guilty  about  not  carrying 
out  his  plans  and  going  to  Purdue,  but  I  could  n't.  I 
would  have  hated  it.  What  do  you  think?  Do  you 
think  that  I  did  right  to  stick  to  my  own  plans? 
Sometimes  I  feel  responsible  for  all  this  typhoid  bus- 
iness. It  makes  me  sick.  But  a  man's  work  makes 
a  lot  of  difference  to  him.  I  had  to  choose  my  own 
kind,  and  it  was  not  farming." 

Hewitt  mailed  this  letter  on  the  day  he  had  planned, 
months  before,  to  start  for  the  university.  He  had 
already  talked  matters  over  with  Mr.  Smith,  and  had 
been  assured  that  the  book-store  would  go  into  bank- 
ruptcy without  him. 

"  I  hope  you  don't  go  at  Christmas  time,  either,"  the 
proprietor  told  him  with  a  laugh.  Afterward  he  came 
up  to  Hewitt  and  slapped  him  on  the  back  with  robust 
friendliness.  "  Too  bad,  Son ;  college  will  keep, 
though." 

Blake,  too,  came  into  the  store  one  morning  and 
grasped  Hewitt's  hand. 

"  Awfully  sorry  you  can't  go  away  to  school  this 
fall,  Stevenson,"  he  said,  and  smiled  his  sympathy. 
The  act  had  touched  Hewitt.  Blake  Smith  was  true 
blue,  like  his  father. 


CASTE  THREE  379 

Charles  Stevenson  said  not  a  word  to  his  son  about 
college.  He  seemed  to  assume  that  Hewitt  was  to 
remain  in  Alston  indefinitely.  Hewitt  wondered 
whether  he  did  this  without  considering  his  disappoint- 
ment, or  whether  he  had  forgotten.  But  college  was 
never  mentioned  between  them. 

After  he  had  mailed  his  letter  to  Paul,  Hewitt  went 
into  the  store  and  started  his  day's  work  with  an  at- 
tempt at  cheeriness.  He  was  n't  going  to  be  a  cad 
about  a  disappointment.  His  mind  kept  turning  to 
Mary  Young.  Would  she  remember  that  he  had  in- 
tended to  leave  Alston  on  that  day?  He  wondered 
if  she  knew  how  ill  his  father  had  been.  The  item 
had  been  in  the  local  paper.  But  she  had  never  men- 
tioned it  to  him.  If  she  knew,  she  had  forgotten,  no 
doubt. 

He  could  not  keep  from  thinking  about  Chicago, 
however.  Letsky  and  Bowman  and  the  rest  of  the 
radicals  would  be  coming  into  the  book-store  for  the 
first  session  of  the  season.  Mr.  Woody  —  Hewitt 
could  see  him  leaning  on  a  pile  of  books,  his  white 
head  thrown  back,  an  amused  glitter  in  the  dark  eyes 
behind  his  gold-rimmed  spectacles  —  would  be  arguing 
with  the  alert,  long-haired,  violent  Letsky. 

Hewitt  was  more  than  usually  courteous  to  cus- 
tomers. He  sought  extra  work,  determined  to  fight 
down  the  lump  that  kept  pressing  into  his  dry  throat. 

It  was  a  dull  day,  rainy  and  gloomy,  with  a  promise 
of  fall. 

At  five  o'clock  Hewitt  lost  the  determined  grip  on 


380  CASTE  THREE 

himself  he  had  inaugurated  in  the  morning  and  called 
up  Mary  Young.  He  had  not  talked  to  her  for  any 
length  of  time  since  the  beginning  of  his  father's  ill- 
ness nearly  a  month  before. 

She  was  surprised. 

•  "Hewitt?  You  deserter!  I've  hardly  caught  a 
glimpse  of  you  for  months !  " 

"  You  did  n't  want  anything  but  a  glimpse,  did 
you  ?  "  he  queried. 

"  You  're  being  naughty.  Of  course  I  want  to  see 
you." 

"To-night?"  he  asked,  afraid  that  it  couldn't  be 
true. 

"  Oh !  "  she  said,  and  paused.  "  I  'm  going  to  a 
dance  at  the  Alston  Club.  Would  you  like  to  come 
down  for  an  hour  before  I  go  ?  " 

Hewitt  grasped  at  the  straw. 

When  he  went  he  had  a  sense  of  excitement  that  he 
should  have  at  last  broken  through  his  determination 
not  to  demand  bread  of  her.  There  was  the  chance 
that  she  would  behave  toward  him  as  she  had  done  the 
day  of  his  grandfather's  funeral,  that  she  would  kiss 
his  wounds  and  make  him  serene  again. 

The  rain  had  stopped,  leaving  the  air  damp  and  full 
of  autumn  chill.  Hewitt  had  put  on  a  new,  light  top- 
coat over  his  blue  summer  suit.  He  had  done  so  with 
a  thrill  of  satisfaction.  His  bank  account  had  not 
grown  swollen  during  the  summer  months.  His 
wardrobe  was  in  striking  contrast  to  that  of  the  fall 
before,  when  he  had  come  down  on  the  Pullman  from 


CASTE  THREE  381 

Chicago  to  Alston.  He  felt  equal  to  being  unaffected 
by  the  scorn  Letsky  would  heap  upon  him  in  Jan- 
uary, that  is,  if  he  ever  reached  Chicago.  To-night, 
as  he  made  his  way  through  the  chill  air  toward  the 
Trimble  house,  he  felt  doubtful  about  ever  reaching 
Chicago.  It  seemed  far  away,  a  city  of  the  bright 
dreams  of  youth  that  never  come  true. 

He  wondered  why  it  had  been  his  father  who  must 
have  typhoid  and  require  his  son's  presence  at  home, 
instead  of  Blake  Smith's,  for  instance.  Blake's  road 
seemed  a  very  smooth  and  easy  one  to  Hewitt. 

He  was  thinking,  too,  as  he  walked  through  the 
damp  streets,  that  the  tall  woman  in  control  over  the 
horn  of  plenty  did  n't  exist  for  everybody.  Some- 
times she  went  into  hiding  or  died,  or  somehow  she 
inexplicably  disappeared  with  her  fruits.  He  was  in- 
clined, in  fact,  to  be  doubtful  of  whether  she  had  ever 
appeared  and  offered  him  the  opportunity  of  buying. 
Some  people  were  pursued  by  an  inexorable  fate  which 
snatched  the  good  out  of  their  lives.  He,  of  all  the 
young  men  of  his  acquaintance  in  Alston,  was  the 
only  one  who  had  seen  a  grandfather  die  and  a  father 
lie  near  to  death  with  typhoid, —  all  in  one  summer, 
and  that  the  one  before  his  intended  entrance  into  a 
university  three  years  later  than  the  average  boy 
graduated  from  high  school.  He  who  needed  most  to 
hurry  was  the  one  whom  fate  retarded  now. 

Hewitt  grew  bitter.  He  wasn't  getting  a  square 
deal ;  and  he  knew  that  the  only  reason  he  had  n't  been 
a  little  bitter  about  it  before  was  because  he  had  had 


382  CASTE  THREE 

a  sneaking  hope  that  something  —  he  had  n't  known 
what  he  expected  —  would  happen  to  make  his  plans 
come  out  right. 

Mary  was  radiant  in  a  low-cut  gown  of  dark  blue 
crepe  over  some  shining  white  stuff  that  bared  her 
neck  and  arms.  There  was  something  white  and  fluffy 
in  her  hair,  arising  from  a  blue  band,  which  seemed 
to  make  her  eyes  deeper  and  darker.  She  made  Hew- 
itt sit  down  while  she  told  him  about  the  dances  and 
parties  that  had  kept  her  occupied  for  a  month.  Her 
tone  was  apologetic,  as  though  it  were  she,  rather  than 
he,  who  had  broken  the  cord  of  their  seeing  each  other 
often.  Even  as  he  recognized  the  paradox  of  the 
situation,  Hewitt  was  wondering  if  she  were  not  right 
about  it  —  that  he  had  kept  away  because  she  had 
not  sent  the  signal  for  him  to  come.  He  suddenly 
became  scornful  of  his  supposed  strength. 

Dr.  Jimmy  Trimble  was  sitting  under  a  reading- 
lamp  in  the  library  at  the  back  of  the  hall,  so  that  at 
first  Hewitt  thought  Mary  was  keeping  to  these  trifles 
of  talk  because  of  his  presence.  But  at  eight  the  doc- 
tor went  upstairs,  where  his  wife  could  be  heard  mov- 
ing through  the  hall,  and  Hewitt  and  Mary  were  left 
alone  in  the  living-room. 

The  trend  of  her  talk  did  not  change.  She  was  gay 
and  charming.  Hewitt  sat  watching  her  with  his  gray 
eyes,  which  had  taken  on  a  look  of  childish  sadness. 
His  mouth  was  set  in  a  faint  smile.  His  dark  hair 
lay  smooth,  boyishly  smooth  and  so  close  cut  above 
his  ears  and  neck  that  it  seemed  shaven.  His  fingers 


CASTE  THREE  383 

were  interlaced  between  his  knees  as  he  leaned  forward 
to  watch  Mary. 

He  could  have  cried  out  with  joy  at  her  eager 
beauty.  She  was  like  a  child,  he  thought,  reaching 
out  for  the  happiness  she  had  once  said  she  so  wanted. 
Was  she  getting  it?  No,  she  would  never  be  satisfied, 
because  she  wanted  too  much.  She  desired  excite- 
ment, joy,  and  never  that  contentment  in  which  lay, 
so  thought  Hewitt,  real  happiness.  Would  she  never 
be  done  with  flitting  in  search  of  what  could  only  be 
found  within  herself? 

These  thoughts  were  flowing  through  a  hinterland 
of  Hewitt's  brain,  while  his  disappointment  over  his' 
spoiled  university  course  became  increasingly  unimpor- 
tant before  the  disappointment  in  his  altered  relations 
with  Mary  Young.  She  did  not  even  remember  that 
he  had  been  planning  to  go  to  Chicago.  She  did  not 
mention  it.  She  had  forgotten  it. 

During  the  month  or  more  since  she  had  last  talked 
with  him  at  any  length,  he  had  not  existed  for  her. 
Hewitt  had  a  sudden  queer  feeling  that  when  she  com- 
pletely forgot  him,  as  she  was  sure  to  do  if  he  left 
Alston,  he  would  cease  to  exist  altogether.  There 
would  be  no  Hewitt  Stevenson.  So  sharp  was  his 
emotion  when  he  was  near  Mary ! 

Hewitt  was  relieved,  because  he  longed  to  be  alone 
with  this  new  sorrow,  when  a  swish  of  water  in  the 
street  and  then  a  cessation  of  the  sound  told  them  that 
a  motor  was  stopping  outside.  He  glanced  out  of  the 
window  and  recognized  the  visitor. 


384  CASTE  THREE 

"  I  must  go  now,"  he  said,  rising  and  reaching  for 
his  coat  and  hat. 

"  It 's  Tom  Brandon.  You  shall  ride  down-town 
with  us.  It 's  wet  to-night." 

Hewitt  tried  to  say  that  he  wanted  to  walk,  but 
Mary's  insistence  and  Brandon's  arrival  at  the  door 
made  refusal  awkward;  so  he  got  into  the  car  with 
them,  and  talked  commonplaces  while  they  glided  to- 
ward Meridian  Street. 

"  Drop  me  at  the  store,"  he  suggested.  Mrs.  Chan- 
cellor had  agreed  to  lock  up  for  him,  but  he  wanted 
to  be  sure  that  things  were  properly  looked  after  for 
the  night. 

"  Good-night,"  Mary's  voice  echoed  in  his  ear  as  he 
unlocked  the  door  of  the  darkened  store  and  walked, 
by  the  light  from  the  windows,  toward  the  rear. 
There  he  switched  on  a  desk-lamp  and  sat  down  in  Mr. 
Smith's  swivel-chair.  He  pulled  a  copy  of  Browning 
out  of  his  overcoat  pocket  and  laid  it  down.  He  had 
lent  it  to  Mary  in  the  early  summer,  and  she  had  re- 
turned it  to  him  to-night. 

As  he  picked  it  up  again  and  ran  through  the  pages 
without  reading  them,  Hewitt  found  some  scraps  of 
paper,  torn  scraps,  but  written  upon  in  writing  he 
knew  to  be  his,  between  the  pages.  He  placed  the 
fragments  in  order  against  a  page.  This  was  a  note 
he  had  written  Mary  in  July,  when  he  had  first  begun 
to  grow  discontented  with  her.  He  had  spent,  he  re- 
membered, a  day  and  a  night  in  composing  it.  He  had 
written  and  destroyed  and  written  again,  determined 


CASTE  THREE  385 

to  make  it  beautiful.     He  had  sent  it  by  messenger, 
with  roses. 

And  here  was  the  note,  carelessly  torn  and  thrust 
into  a  convenient  book.  Hewitt  felt  sure  Mary  had 
never  read  the  poems  he  had  marked  for  her  in  the 
table  of  contents.  The  book  had  merely  been  near 
her.  He  read  the  note  slowly.  It  ran  thus : 

Dearest: 

I,  a  moth,  lately  come  out  from  the  dullness  of  brown 
cocoon,  have  seen  the  light  of  your  candle.  I  flutter  about, 
blindly  striving  to  warm  myself  at  the  flame  of  your  strong 
sweetness.  My  wings  are  singed  and  torn.  They  were 
never  very  beautiful  wings,  and  now  they  are  uglier  than 
before. 

But  you,  so  full  of  the  joy  of  existence,  will  look  upon 
them  with  gentle  compassion,  will  you  not,  remembering  that 
they  were  burned  at  your  candle? 

I  love  you ! 

HEWITT. 

The  inside  of  his  cheek  burned  where  he  had  drawn 
the  flesh  between  his  teeth.  He  bit  into  it  again  and 
again  as  he  sat  looking  at  the  words  on  that  torn 
paper.  Well,  Mary  had  torn  the  paper.  The  words 
had  meant  nothing  to  her,  no  more  than  a  passing 
feeling  that  here  was  another  boy  breaking  out  into 
pretty  speeches. 

He  lighted  the  scraps,  one  by  one,  over  matches,  and 
allowed  the  charred  pieces  to  drop  through  his  fingers 
into  the  basket. 

It  was  after  eleven  when  Hewitt  looked  at  the  court- 
house clock  on  his  way  out.  A  man  must  stand  on 


386  CASTE  THREE 

his  own  two  feet,  he  was  thinking,  but  he  felt  as  if 
he  had  suddenly  come  upon  himself  in  front  of  a  huge 
stone  wall,  thick  and  impregnable,  beating  his  head 
against  its  hardness,  while  a  voice,  compassionately 
and  adorably  sweet,  sang  a  song  from  the  other  side 
to  make  him  forget  his  hurt.  There  was  a  gate  far- 
ther down  the  wall  where  men  came  and  went,  men 
who,  had  this  gate  been  closed,  would  have  wandered 
on  to  some  spot  where  other  songs  were  being  sung. 
But  Hewitt  did  not  know  there  was  a  gate. 

Hewitt  had  thrown  a  book  into  the  muddy  gutter 
when  he  first  emerged  from  the  store,  but  after  he 
had  looked  at  the  clock  in  the  court-house  tower  until 
the  large  hand  moved,  he  went  out  and  picked  it  up. 
His  face  wore  a  smile  that  grew  broader  as  he  wiped 
off  the  mud  with  his  handkerchief.  He  put  the  damp 
volume  of  Browning  into  his  pocket  and  started  for 
home. 

A  few  weeks  later  Hewitt  heard  from  Mr.  Smith 
that  Mary  Young  was  going  to  Chicago,  and  that  later 
she  would  go  back  to  California  for  the  winter.  But 
before  she  left  Alston  she  telephoned  Hewitt  one  after- 
noon and  asked  him  to  come  down  after  he  had  closed 
the  store  that  evening.  She  wanted  to  say  good-bye 
to  him,  she  said. 

Despite  his  studied  indifference,  Hewitt  could  not 
help  being  freshly  angered  when  he  saw  that  Katherine 
Miller  and  her  younger  sister  were  there.  They  left, 
however,  before  he  did,  and  he  had  a  few  minutes 
alone  with  Mary. 


CASTE  THREE  387 

''  You  're  going  to  be  a  good  boy,  and  grow  famous 
for  Mary's  sake,  are  n't  you?  "  she  asked  Hewitt,  pull- 
ing her  chair  in  front  of  him  and  taking  his  hands  in 
hers. 

He  did  not  answer. 

"  You  're  not  going  to  forget  me  again,  are  you  ?  " 
she  asked,  weaving  her  smooth  fingers  in  and  out 
through  his. 

"  How  could  I  ?  "  Hewitt  said,  in  a  tone  that  be- 
came a  half-cry,  despite  his  determination  not  to  show 
her  that  he  cared  greatly. 

"  You  must  n't  ever  forget  me,"  Mary  went  on,  al- 
most solemnly.  "  And  when  you  have  become  a  great 
person  whom  Alston  bows  down  to,  I  shall  come  back 
and  marry  you."  She  smiled  at  him  to  show  that 
she  was  jesting  with  him. 

He  left  soon  after  this,  shaking  her  hand  in  saying 
good-bye.  He  knew  he  could  have  kissed  her  if  he 
had  chosen  to  do  it,  but  he  determinedly  regained  his 
indifference. 

"  You  are  going  to  forget  me,"  Mary  said  half- 
sadly,  as  Hewitt  opened  the  door.  "  I  can  feel  that 
you  are." 

He  smiled,  and  tried  to  make  his  expression  enig- 
matical, but  he  was  sure  that  she  understood. 


CHAPTER  XX 

EVERY  age  has  its  compensations.  Maturity  is 
debtor  for  an  implacability  which  magnifies 
atoms  and  ignores  the  great  emotions.  Youth  has  its 
fine  resiliency. 

Hewitt  Stevenson  did  not  mope  long  because  Mary 
Young  had  considered  him  an  episode  to  be  lightly 
passed  over.  He  knew  very  well  that  the  slight  feel- 
ing, affected  or  real,  she  had  shown  in  parting  from 
him  was  only  a  tiny  part  of  the  emotion  aroused  by 
her  leave-taking  of  an  entire  community.  She  loved 
Alston,  she  had  always  said,  and  she  was  not  one  to 
leave  it  without  making  sure  to  the  limit  of  her  powers 
that  everyone  for  whom  she  had  ever  felt  any  affection 
loved  her  to  the  end.  This  surety  that  Hewitt  would 
not  forget  her  was  only  another  blossom  in  an  already 
large  bouquet  she  wanted  to  wear  in  departing  from 
Indiana.  Yet  that,  Hewitt  realized,  was  not  a  per- 
fect explanation  of  Mary.  In  her  way,  she  was  fond 
of  him,  too,  just  as  she  was  of  Katherine  Miller  and 
Ernestine  and  the  rest  of  her  cortege.  She  was  a 
very  wonderful  Mary  Young,  but  a  very  complex  one. 

Instead,  indeed,  of  continuing  to  mope  about  Mary, 
Hewitt's  feeling  on  the  morning  after  she  left  for 
Chicago  was  one  of  profound  relief.  It  was  as 


CASTE  THREE  389 

though,  in  his  love,  he  had  been  climbing  a  steep  moun- 
tain, rocky  and  dangerous  with  crevasses,  and  had  at 
last  reached  the  top,  where  a  broad  valley,  restful  and 
fair,  lay  stretched  out  before  him,  a  valley  heretofore 
concealed  by  the  mountain,  but  the  more  welcome  be- 
cause of  relief  from  the  effort  expended  in  the  climb. 
Hewitt  sat  down  on  the  mountain  top.  "  Now  I  can 
rest,"  he  said  to  himself,  referring  to  his  mental  state. 

He  worked  with  exhilaration  during  the  first  day, 
certain  that  Mary  Young  would  not  be  seen  or  heard, 
to  send  his  pulse  booming  and  his  heart  pounding.  He 
felt  safe,  as  though  he  could  never  again  be  moved, 
protected  by  a  thick  skin  of  content. 

"  Now  that  we  have  proved  to  Alston  that  it  can 
take  an  interest  in  serious  literature  of  the  better  type, 
let 's  start  in  on  magazine  taste,"  he  said  to  Mr.  Smith, 
planting  himself  with  his  feet  apart  in  front  of  that 
gentleman  as  he  sat  scanning  the  morning  paper. 

"  H'm,"  Mr.  Smith  snorted.     "  What  next?  " 

"  I  haven't  decided  definitely,  but  that's  right  about 
magazines,"  averred  Hewitt,  with  a  grin.  "  Want  to 
bet?" 

"On  what?" 

"  That  I  can  decrease  sales  on  the  cheap,  trashy  ones, 
and  run  up  sales  on  the  good  ones." 

"  H'm,"  snorted  Mr.  Smith  again. 

"  Let  me  have  a  window  and  a  table  up  in  front." 

"  Help  yourself,  Son.  The  store  is  yours."  He 
stood  up  and  Hewitt  made  a  deep  bow.  "  I  step  back. 
Age  gives  way." 


390  CASTE  THREE 

"  Oh,  don't  put  it  that  way,"  Hewitt  demurred. 

"  All  right ;  but  go  ahead." 

The  rest  of  the  week  found  Hewitt  spending  much 
of  his  time  over  a  case  in  the  back  of  the  store,  where 
he  was  busy  with  a  ruler,  a  bottle  of  India  ink,  draw- 
ing pens,  and  some  fine  brushes. 

Mr.  Smith  stopped  one  morning,  on  entering  the 
store,  to  examine  one  of  the  windows.  It  was  empty, 
except  for  a  rustic  green  bench  against  a  background 
of  plain  green  wall.  On  the  bench  was  thrown  a  copy 
of  one  of  the  better  thirty-five-cent  magazines,  gay  in 
its  October  cover.  In  another  corner  of  the  window 
stood  a  placard  boldly  asking  the  passerby,  "  Who 
killed  Kenyon  Stringer?" 

Mr.  Smith  frowned  and  performed  his  old  trick 
of  dropping  his  glasses  over  in  the  front  of  his  none- 
too-clean  "  vest."  But  his  surprise  was  not  complete 
until  he  had  read  a  second  placard  placed  in  the  glass 
of  the  door.  It  ran  as  follows : 

No  one  knows  who  killed  Stringer  —  yet,  because  that  is 
not  a  real  copy  of  Blank's  Magazine  in  the  window.  It  is 
only  an  advance  dummy. 

But  Blank's  is  out  to-morrow  ! 

Get  your  copy,  and  find  out  the  solution  to  the  most  inter- 
esting mystery  in  fall  fiction. 

"  H'm,"  Mr.  Smith  commented,  glaring  at  Hewitt 
as  he  went  back  to  his  desk.  He  found  the  latter 
tapping  away  at  the  typewriter  about  some  orders. 

The  next  morning  the  window  had  been  changed. 


CASTE  THREE  391 

The  corner  of  a  library  was  suggested  by  a  sectional 
bookcase,  a  table  with  a  reading-light,  and  a  chair. 
On  the  table  was  laid  the  same  magazine.  A  placard 
in  the  corner  announced: 

Kenyon  Stringer  was  not  a  member  of  the  famous  stage 
triangle. 

He  was  an  irreproachable  husband  and  father,  but  he  was 
murdered. 

Why? 

The  person  who  is  going  to  sit  down  in  this  room  presently 
will  find  out. 

On  the  street  door  appeared  a  second  placard : 

Blank's  is  out ! 

Get  Yours  To-day. 

We  have  just  100  copies  in  stock. 

At  half-hour  intervals  during  the  afternoon,  a  young 
man,  hired  for  the  purpose,  appeared  in  the  window, 
sat  down  in  the  chair,  switched  on  the  light,  and 
occupied  himself  for  some  minutes  with  Blank's 
Magazine.  Then,  when  a  crowd  had  gathered,  he 
went  close  to  the  glass  and  opened  the  magazine  at 
the  beginning  of  the  Kenyon  Stringer  murder-story, 
where  a  full-page  illustration  greeted  the  eyes  of  the 
onlookers.  He  proceeded  to  turn  the  pages  of  the 
magazine,  allowing  his  audience  a  glimpse  of  the  at- 
tractive, soft-toned  illustrations. 

Abe  Kahn  called  Mr.  Smith  to  the  telephone  about 
four  o'clock. 


392  CASTE  THREE 

"  Say,  Smith,  I  'm  going  to  have  you  arrested  for 
enticing  the  crowd  away  from  my  side  of  the  street. 
What  under  the  sun  is  happening  over  there?  " 

"My  assistant-manager  is  advertising  Blank's  Maga- 
zine. Come  on  over  and  buy  a  copy." 

"The  divil! "  said  Mr.  Kahn,  and  hung  up. 

At  the  end  of  the  day  Hewitt  approached  Mr.  Smith. 
His  face  wore  a  sly  smile. 

"  Well?  "  queried  his  superior. 

"  I  sold  twenty-seven  copies  of  Blank's  to-day. 
That 's  twenty-six  more  than  have  ever  been  sold  in 
this  store  before.  What  do  you  think  of  my  adver- 
tising?" 

"  I  don't  like  it.     It 's  not  dignified  business." 

"Want  me  to  stop?" 

"  No.  How  much  did  you  pay  that  boy  to  sit  in 
the  window  ?  " 

"  A  dollar  for  the  afternoon." 

"  Making  money  on  that  magazine?  " 

"  No,  not  yet.  But  we  will  to-morrow,  and  next 
month,  too." 

Charles  Stevenson  improved  slowly.  He  sat  up  at 
intervals  for  a  few  weeks,  and  then  had  a  relapse. 
The  nurse  was  recalled  for  a  week,  but  again  he  grew 
better.  There  were  moments  when  his  son  was  sorry 
that  he  had  stayed  home,  instead  of  going  to  Chicago. 
He  seemed  to  mean  nothing  to  his  father.  The  latter 
spoke  to  him  when  he  came  into  the  room  at  noon  and 
again  at  night,  but  he  seemed  uninterested  in  the 
other's  presence.  Grace  was  absorbed  in  her  father. 


CASTE  THREE  393 

She  remained  in  his  room  most  of  the  time.  In  fact, 
she  seemed  never  to  enter  the  front  part  of  the  house, 
except  to  sweep  and  dust. 

"  I  suppose  father  likes  to  know  I  am  here,"  Hewitt 
wrote  to  Paul,  "  on  Grace's  account.  He  is  still  weak, 
and  he  sits  up  only  a  part  of  the  time.  Grace  looks 
pretty  thin,  but  she  can't  be  induced  to  leave  father, 
even  for  an  hour.  You  know  how  she  is  when  she 
decides  on  a  course  of  action.  She  and  father  and 
grandfather  are  all  much  alike  in  that  respect.  I  won- 
der if  you  and  I  are?  Anyway,  I  don't  see  it." 

Early  in  October  a  woman,  who  was  very  pretty  and 
smart,  came  into  the  store  one  afternoon  and  sub- 
scribed for  some  magazines.  Hewitt  had  never  seen 
her  before,  but  he  noted  Mrs.  Patton  waiting  in  her 
car  outside. 

"  Mrs.  Jean  Conners,"  she  told  Hewitt,  when  he 
asked  her  for  her  name.  She  had  a  frank,  friendly 
smile. 

He  remembered  that  Mary  Young  had  spoken  of 
the  Conners,  and  that  Margaret  Hawtrey,  on  the  night 
of  the  "open  house,"  had  spoken  of  Susannah  Con- 
ners as  not  going  back  to  Smith  College.  So  this 
pleasant  woman  in  black  was  Mrs.  Conners,  Mary 
Young's  friend,  the  mother  of  Susannah.  He 
watched  her  as  she  went  out  of  the  door,  stepping 
gracefully  and  firmly.  Hewitt  was  reminded  of  the 
nurse  who  had  cared  for  his  father,  although  the  two 
were  very  different  types,  Mrs.  Conners  being  dark, 
with  brown  eyes  that  looked  kind.  The  nurse  had 


394  CASTE  THREE 

been  light,  and  was  rather  cold,  except  when  she 
smiled.  But  there  was  the  same  quiet  surety  of  step 
and  intensity  of  kindness  in  both  of  them. 

Later  Mrs.  Conners  came  in  when  Mr.  Smith  was 
standing  by  the  stationery  case. 

"  Mr.  Smith !  "  she  exclaimed  with  enthusiasm. 

"Jean  Conners!"  he  ejaculated  explosively. 
"  When  did  you  come  back  to  town  ?  How 's  HT  old 
New  York,  and  how  's  Susie  ?  " 

"  To  begin  with  the  last,  don't  call  her  Susie.  It 
bores  her  dreadfully.  You  see,  with  a  year  at  college 
and  a  summer  in  New  York  and  at  the  seashore,  she 
has  grown  up,  and  I  have  to  use  her  full  name.  I  've 
been  in  Alston  several  days,  and  I  'm  surprised  that  my 
arrival  was  n't  important  enough  for  you  to  know 
about  it."  She  stopped,  and  smiled.  "  I  'm  im- 
mensely glad  to  be  back,"  she  added  softly.  "  New 
York  is  lovely  —  sometimes,  but  one  longs  for  Alston 
and  the  old  friends.  In  no  place  in  the  world  are 
people  so  nice  as  in  Alston.  Don't  you  believe  it  ?  " 

"  I  know  it.     I  moved  to  Seattle  once." 

They  laughed  together.  All  Alston  remembered  the 
time  when  Mr.  Smith  had  packed  his  household  goods 
and  gods  and  set  out  for  the  West  with  his  wife  and 
children.  In  six  months  he  was  back  in  Alston, 
ashamed  to  mention  the  glorious  West. 

"  I  could  n't  stand  it.  It  was  n't  home,"  he  con- 
fessed to  Mrs.  Conners  now,  though  in  the  past  he  had 
never  referred  to  his  exit  and  reentrance.  "  Where 's 
Susannah?  " 


CASTE  THREE  395 

"  In  Indianapolis.  She  's  coming  up  to-day.  She  's 
been  staying  with  Martha  Trimble's  sister  for  a  few 
days.  You  '11  love  her.  She  's  so  grown  up." 

Hewitt  passed  them,  to  close  the  door  which  had 
been  left  open. 

"  Come  here,  Hewitt,"  Mr.  Smith  called  to  him. 
"  Mrs.  Conners  has  come  back  to  Alston,  and  I  want 
you  to  know  her.  This  is  Hewitt  Stevenson,  once 
of  Chicago,  but  now  my  right-hand  man  —  until 
Christmas." 

Mrs.  Conners  held  out  her  hand  to  Hewitt. 

"  You  're  Mary  Young's  Hewitt  Stevenson,  are  n't 
you  ?  "  she  said,  with  her  kind  smile.  "  I  want  you 
to  come  to  the  little  dinner-party  I  am  having  for  my 
daughter,  Susannah,  to-morrow  night.  You  see,  we 
have  been  away  for  more  than  a  year,  and  we  must 
hurry  to  catch  up  with  our  acquaintances.  Mary  wrote 
me  about  you.  She  said  Susannah  would  like  you. 
Will  you  come?  " 

"  I  shall  be  glad  to  come,"  said  Hewitt,  the  hand  she 
still  held  beginning  to  tremble.  Was  he  again  to  be 
tortured  by  caste  three  functions? 

"  At  six  thirty,  then,"  she  said,  releasing  his  hand 
with  a  gentle  pressure. 

"  Where  are  you  staying?  "  Mr.  Smith  asked,  while 
Hewitt  leaned  unsteadily  against  the  glass  case  and 
tried  to  be  natural. 

"  We  've  taken  Kathleen  Harrow's  house  on  Eighth 
Street.  It's  furnished,  you  know.  We  shall  stay 
here  this  winter.  Susannah  was  n't  well.  I  refused 


396  CASTE  THREE 

to  let  her  go  back  to  Smith.  She  shall  enjoy  Alston, 
and  perhaps  will  return  to  school  next  year." 

"  At  six  thirty,"  she  mentioned  again  to  Hewitt,  as 
she  turned  to  leave. 

Mrs.  Jean  Conners,  so  Hewitt  had  learned  from  bits 
of  gossip  picked  up  here  and  there  during  the  year  he 
had  spent  in  Alston,  was  a  person  who  combined  all 
the  ideal  womanly  qualities  into  a  bundle,  without 
arousing  any  envy  or  jealousy  in  the  hearts  of  other 
women.  She  was  a  combination  of  Jane  Addams, 
Queen  Louise,  Florence  Nightingale,  and  the  ideal 
mother.  At  least,  all  loyal  Alstonians  said  so.  She 
practised  the  seven  deadly  virtues  because  she  liked 
to  practise  them,  and  other  women,  upon  seeing  how 
splendid  she  appeared  in  any  role,  were  filled  with  a 
like  desire  to  be  virtuous.  All  in  all,  she  was  a  great 
adjunct  to  Alston,  because  the  town  grew  better  when 
she  entered  it.  She  gave  generously  to  the  deserving 
poor,  and  Alston  was  not  so  large  but  that  this  class 
was  known.  She  belonged  to  all  the  organizations 
for  the  betterment  of  the  city,  and  she  was  always 
willing  to  give  a  helping  hand,  though  she  had  not 
Mrs.  George  Patton's  managing  talent.  In  fact,  she 
did  n't  manage  anything,  but  she  was  always  ready 
with  money  and  spirit  —  which  is  often  a  more  pop- 
ular method  than  *Mrs.  Patton's.  Jim  Conners  had 
made  his  money  in  gas,  and  then  had  died,  leaving  his 
wife  and  Susannah  to  spend  it.  Everybody  liked 
them.  Susannah  was  considered  to  be  one  of  the 


CASTE  THREE  397 

two  most  attractive  products  of  Alston.  The  other 
was  the  Preston  Ignition  and  Starting  System. 

But  Mrs.  Conners,  in  pursuing  the  virtues,  did  not 
sacrifice  her  social  position.  It  was,  perhaps,  too  firm 
to  be  sacrificed.  Even  if  she  had  chosen  to  scorn 
dancing  and  bridge-playing  according  to  the  ruling  of 
her  Methodist  Church,  she  would  have  remained  se- 
cure as  a  woman  everybody  invited  to  dances  and  to 
bridge  parties.  People  naturally  liked  her. 

Mary  Young  had  been  devoted  to  her.  This  in 
itself  was  a  tribute  to  her  positivity  of  character  and 
accomplishment,  the  fruit  of  the  latter  being,  of 
course,  Susannah.  Mary  Young  was  never  devoted 
to  any  one  who  did  not  excel.  She  was  the  barom- 
eter of  an  Alstonian's  merit,  not  because  she  was,  as 
Hewitt  had  once  accused  her  of  being,  a  parasite  on 
the  best  of  caste  three,  but  because  she  admired,  and 
so  gave  devotion  only  to  those  who  stood  out  as  being 
superior  to  the  mass,  even  of  her  own  group. 

Young  Alston  was  excited  over  Susannah's  return 
to  its  bosom.  Ernestine  Smith  ran  into  the  store  late 
in  the  afternoon  to  tell  her  father  that  Susannah  was 
coming  at  seven.  Could  n't  they  take  Susannah  and 
her  mother  to  the  Grand  Hotel  for  dinner?  Mr. 
Smith  demurred. 

"  Let 's  not  go  so  fast,"  he  said.  "  Why  not  wait 
until  the  Conners  are  settled  and  ready  for  entertain- 
ment? " 

Ernestine  pouted. 


398  CASTE  THREE 

"Dad!" 

"  All  right.  Go  ahead.  I  s'pose  I  can  eat  some- 
thing at  home  at  six.  I  can't  wait  until  seven-thirty 
or  so  for  my  dinner." 

"But  you '11  come?" 

"  Want  me?     Why  not  just  the  young  people?  " 

"  We  want  all  ages." 

That  settled  it,  since  Ernestine  wanted  the  whole 
family. 

Hewitt  was  standing  at  the  door  of  the  store  that 
evening,  when  the  Smith  car  drew  up  and  ejected  Mr. 
Smith. 

"  Forgot  something,"  he  explained,  as  he  hurried, 
in  his  peculiar  way,  back  to  his  desk. 

Hewitt  moved  away  from  the  door,  but  not  before 
he  had  seen  Ernestine,  at  the  wheel,  in  earnest  but 
merry  conversation  with  a  girl  whom  Hewitt  took  to 
be  Susannah  Conners.  He  could  only  make  out  that 
she  must  be  very  pretty,  under  a  hat  which  curved 
down,  concealing  most  of  her  features.  One  jumped 
at  the  conclusion  that  Susannah  was  pretty.  She  was 
taller  than  Ernestine,  he  judged,  and  not  exactly 
plump,  but  rounded. 

Three  of  Joe  Bales'  friends  —  Hewitt  never  dis- 
tinguished among  the  young  men  of  Alston  —  hurried 
up  to  the  car  and  made  a  great  to-do  of  shaking 
hands  and  being  tickled  to  death  over  Susannah's  re- 
turn. They  also  included  Mrs.  Conners  in  their  dem- 
onstration. 

The  next  day  Hewitt  began  to  be  uncomfortable,  as 


CASTE  THREE  399 

a  prelude  to  the  Conners'  dinner-party,  early  in  the 
morning.  He  had  laid  out  his  best  suit,  preparatory 
to  sending  it  to  the  cleaner's  for  pressing,  but  upon 
gazing  at  it  as  it  hung  on  the  railing  of  the  stairway, 
he  was  seized  with  qualms  concerning  the  appropriate- 
ness of  wearing  a  street  suit  to  a  dinner-party.  He 
drew  his  upper  lip  down  under  his  lower  one  and 
studied  deeply.  Joe  Bales  went  to  dinner-parties,  but 
Hewitt  had  never  seen  him  in  the  act  of  going.  He 
might  wear  overalls,  for  all  Hewitt  knew,  or,  worse 
still,  full  dress.  Hewitt  ended  by  sending  the  suit. 
It  required  pressing,  whether  he  wore  it  or  not.  He 
also  sent  his  light  top-coat  with  the  smart  belt.  He 
liked  that  coat,  and  the  cool  evenings  required  one. 

During  the  morning  Hewitt  was  several  times  the 
victim  of  an  impulse  to  ask  Mr.  Smith  what  kind  of 
clothing  a  young  man  should  wear  to  a  caste  three 
dinner-party  in  Alston.  He  thought  of  opening 
speeches,  casual  references  to  clothing  in  general,  sup- 
plemented by  a  remark  on  the  common  sense  people 
in  Alston  showed  in  refusing  to  be  shackled  by  full 
dress.  He  had  worn  a  street-suit  to  the  Hawtreys' 
"  open  house,"  but  that  had  been  an  informal  dance. 
The  Conners  had  been  living  for  a  year  in  New  York. 
What  would  they  expect  of  him  ? 

Hewitt  ended  by  rejecting  Mr.  Smith  as  an  advisor 
concerning  appropriate  clothing.  Mr.  Smith  would 
see  through  his  ruse,  because  he  had  heard  Mrs.  Con- 
ners invite  Hewitt  to  the  party. 

He  thought  once  of  telephoning  Joe  Bales  at  Pres- 


400  CASTE  THREE 

ton's  to  ask  him  about  the  matter,  but  that,  too,  was 
rejected,  because  one  hates  above  all  jhings  to  be  made 
the  laughing  stock  of  one's  contemporaries.  Mr. 
Smith  would  have  been  preferable  to  Joe. 

At  noon  Hewitt  had  not  come  to  the  decision  as 
to  whether  to  ask,  or  to  remain  silent  and  chance  the 
suit  he  had  already  sent  to  the  cleaner's.  The  time 
to  act  had  come.  If  he  had  to  buy  a  dress-suit,  he 
must  buy  it  that  afternoon.  The  bother  of  not  being 
able  to  have  it  tailored  did  not  disturb  him,  because 
he  had, always  been  satisfied  with  "  Smart  Set  "  clothes. 
They  suited  him.  He  rather  disliked  spending  forty 
or  fifty  dollars  on  a  suit  he  probably  would  never  need 
again,  but  going  to  the  Conners'  dinner-party  in  the 
wrong  kind  of  clothing,  and  thus  having  his  dis- 
comfort augmented  by  the  knowledge  that  he  was  in- 
appropriately clothed,  was  not  to  be  thought  of  —  not 
if  a  dress-suit  cost  a  hundred  dollars ! 

Hewitt  walked  back  and  forth  the  length  of  the 
store  several  times  after  he  returned  from  his  dinner. 
Mrs.  Chancellor  asked  him  if  he  was  feeling  well,  and 
he  forced  a  smile  of  reassurance. 

At  length  he  put  on  his  cap  and  walked  across  the 
street  to  Kahn's  Men's  Furnishing  Store. 

Hewitt  saw  Mr.  Kahn  in  the  rear  of  the  store,  his 
elbow  on  a  high  pile  of  folded  coats,  his  face  con- 
torted into  a  frown.  He  was  talking  to  a  clerk. 

Hewitt  told  the  man  who  approached  him  that  he 
wanted  to  see  Mr.  Kahn,  and  when  the  latter  moved 
away,  he  went  to  the  owner. 


CASTE  THREE  401 

Hewitt,  too,  leaned  an  elbow  on  a  pile  of  coats.  He 
had  prepared  an  opening  speech,  but  his  mind  became 
a  blank.  After  a  moment  of  awkward  silence,  he 
spoke. 

"  Mr.  Kahn,  I  want  a  word  of  advice.  What  kind 
of  clothes  do  men  in  Alston  wear  to  a  —  rather, —  a 
dinner-party, —  the  Conners',  for  instance?" 

Mr.  Kahn's  mobile  mouth  made  queer  shapes,  but 
he  did  not  smile. 

"  Not  full  dress,  or  even  a  Tuxedo,  if  that 's  what 's 
worrying  you,  Stevenson.  Regular  business  clothes. 
That  suit  I  sold  you  in  the  spring  is  all  right.  Or  we 
have  some  new  fall  goods  that  will  make  you  look 
like  a  million  dollars.  Come  on  over  here.  I  want  to 
show  you  a  mottled  gray  cloth  that  will  take  your  eye 
in  a  minute." 

"  Yes,"  Hewitt  hesitated,  "  but  you  could  n't  get  it 
done  so  that  I  could  wear  it  to-night,  could  you?  " 

"  I  '11  fix  things  for  you.     Come  over  here." 

Of  course  Hewitt  bought  a  new  suit  of  thick,  gray 
cloth,  with  bright  threads  running  through  it.  He  had 
to  be  quick  to  hide  a  smile,  when  he  looked  at  himself 
in  the  tall  mirror  Mr.  Kahn  led  him  to. 

"  I  told  you  you  'd  look  like  a  million,"  Mr.  Kahn 
told  him.  "  You  can  have  it  at  five-thirty.  And  the 
price  is  only  thirty-five  dollars." 

Thereafter  the  day  was  more  pleasant,  although  a 
new  griffin  erected  its  head  toward  five  o'clock  and 
Hewitt  hunted  patiently,  but  without  result,  through 
books  on  miscellaneous  subjects  on  a  back  shelf,  in 


402  CASTE  THREE 

search  of  a  volume  on  etiquette.  He  went  over  to  the 
library  finally,  and  there  found  three  such  books  in 
the  open  stacks.  They  dealt  largely  with  formal  re- 
ceptions and  etiquette  in  Washington  and  he  came 
across  only  one  line  that  threw  the  least  light  on  the 
correct  course  of  action  at  a  small  dinner-party  in 
Alston,  Indiana.  "  Use  the  table  silver  from  the  out- 
side in,"  said  this  third  book.  Hewitt  had  already 
known  this  from  going  to  hotels  with  Paul,  but  he 
was  glad  to  have  it  reaffirmed.  He  wondered  whether 
a  gentleman  pushed  in  the  chair  for  the  lady  he  took 
in  to  dinner.  He  wondered  about  wine.  They  cer- 
tainly would  not  serve  wine,  however,  at  a  dinner-party 
given  in  honor  of  a  young  girl.  Besides,  Grace  had 
said  that  the  Conners  were  Methodists.  So  there  was 
no  use  deciding  whether  you  cared  for  wine  or  not,  or 
any  other  little  points  like  that. 

By  six-fifteen,  when  he  stood  arrayed  in  his  new  suit 
and  a  quiet  tie  which  Abe  Kahn  had  helped  him  select, 
with  a  clean  handkerchief  in  his  hand  and  a  silk  one 
to  match  his  tie  in  his  upper  coat-pocket,  the  weight 
of  helplessness  before  a  dinner-party  with  caste  three 
was  bearing  down  on  Hewitt  terribly.  He  applied 
a  little  talcum  powder  to  his  nose,  and  then  wiped  it 
off  carefully  with  his  handkerchief.  He  did  n't  want 
the  powder  to  show.  He  gave  an  extra  polish  to  his 
already  immaculate  brown  shoes,  and  tried  to  get  a 
complete  picture  of  his  feet  and  legs  by  standing  on 
the  bed  and  looking  into  the  small  oval  of  his  bureau 
mirror.  He  readjusted  the  cuff  of  his  trousers  as 


CASTE  THREE  403 

he  got  down.  He  pulled  his  coat  forward  on  his 
shoulders  by  lifting  them  slightly.  He  tied  his  scarf 
again  and  pulled  down  his  vest.  It  was  a  little  snug, 
he  decided.  He  would  have  it  refitted  to-morrow. 

"  Hewitt !  "  came  Grace's  voice  from  below.  "  Do 
you  know  it 's  twenty  minutes  after  six?  You  'd  bet- 
ter hurry !  " 

He  felt  irritated  by  this  reminder  of  the  time,  and 
he  pulled  out  his  watch  to  see  if  five  minutes  could 
have  elapsed  since  his  last  examination  of  the  gold 
watch  Paul  had  sent  him  the  Christmas  before.  He 
found  that  Grace  was  right,  but  this  did  not  eliminate 
his  irritation.  His  cheeks  were  mottled  with  red  in  a 
queer  way  they  had  when  he  became  excited.  They 
were  not  red  where  cheeks  should  be  red,  but  in  spots, 
especially  near  his  jaws.  He  examined  them  with  his 
hand-mirror  and  applied  talcum,  but  immediately  he 
rubbed  it  off  again. 

"Hewie!"  called  Grace  from  below.  "If  you 
don't  hurry,  you'll  be  late  at  the  Conners'  and  will 
feel  foolish." 

Grace  took  especial  interest  in  the  Conners  on  ac- 
count of  the  similarity  of  their  religious  faith  to  her 
own.  She  was  proud  that  Hewitt  was  going  to  their 
house  to  dinner,  although  she  did  not  let  him  see  her 
pride. 

Hewitt  gave  a  last  brush  to  his  smooth  hair  and 
seized  his  top-coat  and  gray  hat.  The  hat  looked 
rather  battered,  but  a  new  suit  and  hat  on  the  same 
night  would  have  been  too  conspicuous.  Besides,  he 


404  CASTE  THREE 

wanted  a  derby  for  winter,  though  he  hesitated  about 
appearing  in  one  for  the  first  time.  A  derby  was  un- 
usually noticeable  when  new.  It  was  so  stiff  and 
unwieldy. 

He  said  good-bye  to  Grace  and  his  father,  who  was 
sitting  up  in  a  chair  for  the  first  time,  and  started  off 
at  a  brisk  pace.  He  changed  to  a  slower  walk  before 
he  passed  the  post-office.  He  was  n't  going  to  make 
himself  breathless  and  hot  when  he  arrived  —  rather 
late,  he  feared  —  at  the  Eighth  Street  residence. 

Hewitt  need  not  have  feared.  The  guests  had  not 
all  arrived  when  he  was  ushered  into  the  hall  of  the 
dignified  old  Harrow  house  which  the  Conners  had 
taken  for  the  winter.  Their  own  house  had  been  sold 
to  the  Y.  M.  C.  A.  committee  for  an  association 
home. 

The  maid  took  his  hat  and  coat,  and  Mrs.  Conners 
came  through  the  heavy  velvet  curtains  and  took  his 
hand.  There  had  always  been  something  dramatic  to 
Hewitt  about  a  woman's  appearing  in  an  opening  of 
heavy  curtains.  It  now  struck  him  that  Mrs.  Conners 
was,  in  her  way,  as  beautiful  as  Mrs.  Stewart  or  Mary 
Young.  And  then  he  was  freshly  struck  by  the  thought 
that  he  seemed  very  susceptible  to  woman's  beauty 
in  Alston,  whereas  in  Chicago  he  had  never  noticed 
women.  Oh,  yes ;  he  remembered  that  he  had  thought 
Paul's  wife  was  pretty. 

The  Harrow  house  was  furnished  with  the  massive 
carved  furniture  in  vogue  thirty  or  forty  years  before. 
There  were  stiff  portraits  in  oil  on  the  walls,  evidently 


CASTE  THREE  405 

the  Harrow  family  of  Civil  War  times,  and  from  the 
high  ceilings  hung  elaborate  chandeliers,  with  clinking 
stalactite  crystals  hanging  in  clusters  from  their  white 
arms. 

Susannah  Conners  was  standing  near  the  middle  of 
the  room.  She  was  dressed  in  silver  and  white,  with 
glistening  little  silver  slippers.  A  silver  band  was 
around  her  head.  Her  hair  was  bright,  darker  than 
golden,  but  still  bright,  especially  at  her  temples  where 
it  curled  into  small  rings  that  she  evidently  had  tried 
to  brush  back.  It  was  laid  in  two  wide  braids  around 
her  head  above  the  silver  band.  Her  flesh  looked 
warm  and  pink,  especially  rosy  under  the  dark  blue 
eyes  in  which  a  faint  suggestion  of  a  smile  played  as 
she  was  introduced  to  Hewitt. 

Susannah  led  him  into  a  back  parlor  as  large  and  high 
as  the  first.  Instead  of  containing  oil  portraits,  it  was 
decorated  with  oil  landscapes  of  a  hideous  hard  im- 
possibility. In  one  picture  a  river  was  set  in  mother- 
of-pearl  between  banks  of  harsh  green  upon  which 
mother-of-pearl  daisies  blossomed  in  heavenly  pro- 
fusion. That  mother-of-pearl  stream  almost  made 
Hewitt  laugh,  despite  his  trembling  diffidence  before 
Bob  Hawtrey,  Martin  Booth,  son  of  the  town's  leading 
attorney  and  former  Congressman,  Anne  Miller  and 
Margaret  Hawtrey,  who  had  not  gone  away  to  school, 
after  all.  But  he  immediately  forgot  his  inclination  to 
smile,  being  faced  with  the  necessity  of  seating  himself 
easily  and  naturally  in  an  enormous  chair  which  swal- 
lowed him  with  unexpected  suddenness  and  left  him 


406  CASTE  THREE 

buried  in  a  sea  of  leather.  He  was  startled,  and  felt 
the  mottled  red  crimsoning  his  cheeks. 

Bob  Hawtrey  was  telling  about  a  fishing  excursion 
he  had  made  on  the  lakes  in  the  northern  part  of  Michi- 
gan. Martin  Booth  was  listening,  but  Margaret  Haw- 
trey  was  humming  an  air  and  moving  her  foot  ryth- 
mically,  a.s  if  uninterested,  and  Anne  Miller  was  run- 
ning her  fingers  through  her  fluffy  hair  before  a  glassed 
oil-landscape  which  served  her  as  a  mirror. 

Mrs.  Conners  interrupted  the  fish  story  by  following 
Hewitt  and  Susannah  into  the  room  and  thrusting 
Bob's  head  backward  by  the  chin,  while  she  looked  into 
his  surprised  face. 

"  I  don't  believe  a  word  of  it,  you  imaginative  boy !  " 
she  said  with  a  laugh.  "  Neither  does  Martin,  even 
though  he  behaves  as  though  he  did,  nor  Margaret  — 
she's  your  sister  —  nor  Anne,  who  's  very  busy  making 
herself  pretty,  nor  Susannah,  who  's  very  discerning, 
though  my  daughter,  nor  Hewitt  Stevenson.  Now 
have  you  the  courage  to  go  on  ?  " 

She  released  his  chin,  and  he  stood  up  quickly  and 
placed  his  hands  on  her  shoulders,  shaking  her  with 
vigor. 

"  Just  because  you  Ve  been  in  New  York  —  "he 
began,  and  then  releasing  her,  turned  to  Susannah. 
"  Susie  — " 

Susannah  put  up  an  accusing  finger  at  him. 

"Robbie!" 

"  I  forgot  Susannah,  did  you  meet  Casper  Howard 
in  Northampton  ?  " 


CASTE  THREE  407 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  He  's  a  corking  tennis-player.  He  played  in  the 
state  tournament  last  year,  and  was  runner-up.  He 
goes  around  the  country,  winning  state  championships. 
That 's  a  rotten  system,  is  n't  it,"  he  addressed  the 
group  as  a  whole,  "  permitting  an  out-of-state  man  to 
compete  for  the  state  prize?" 

"  I  wonder  why  they  manage  it  that  way  ?  "  Hewitt 
mused  aloud.  He  was  shocked  at  the  strangeness  of 
his  own  voice.  It  sounded  hollow,  as  though  it  were 
issuing  from  a  well  of  great  depth. 

Bob  Hawtrey  shrugged  in  answer,  and  Mrs.  Conners 
went  toward  the  hall  to  bring  in  Helen  Baxter  and 
Joe  Bales. 

The  talk  in  the  back  parlor,  as  soon  as  they  were 
seated,  broke  up  into  group  discussions,  and  Hewitt 
found  himself  with  Margaret  Hawtrey  —  with  whom 
he  felt  more  at  ease  than  with  any  one  except  Joe  — 
and  Martin  Booth  and  Anne  Miller.  He  resisted  his 
impulse  to  settle  back  in  his  leather  grave  and  make 
himself  as  inconspicuous  as  possible.  He  had  n't  been 
invited  to  a  dinner-party  to  be  comfortable,  but  to  help 
other  people  enjoy  themselves,  even  if  he  could  n't. 
So  Hewitt  sat  up  and  leaned  his  hands  forward  across 
his  knees.  His  coat  disturbed  him.  It  seemed  to  slip 
back,  exposing  too  much  collar  in  the  back.  He  took 
to  lifting  his  shoulder  at  intervals  in  order  to  make  it 
set  properly.  This  movement  gave  him  something  to 
do,  too,  and  kept  him  from  feeling  extremely  awkward. 
Margaret  Hawtrey  was  being  nice  to  him,  he  appre- 


408  CASTE  THREE 

ciated  when  she  mentioned  having  read  a  novel  by  a 
Chicago  woman.  She  had  liked  it.  She  wondered  if 
any  one  else  there  had  read  it. 

No  one  had,  but  Hewitt  had  read  a  previous  one  by 
the  same  author  and  praised  it,  not  because  he  felt  that 
it  deserved  praise,  but  because  he  wanted  to  repay  Mar- 
garet. This  was  not  the  demand  of  hostess  upon  guest, 
and  he  appreciated  her  effort  and  wished  to  show  her 
that  he  did. 

Martin  Booth  liked  O.  Henry,  he  said.  He  had 
bought  a  set  for  himself,  and  often,  when  he  went  home 
at  night,  he  sat  up  in  bed  and  read  a  few  stories  before 
he  went  to  sleep.  O.  Henry  was  a  prince,  according 
to  Martin.  He  said  things  in  a  way  a  fellow  could 
laugh  at  and  still  be  touched  about.  That  story,  now, 
about  the  young  husband  with  the  watch  and  the  girl 
with  beautiful  thick  hair.  The  man  sold  his  watch 
and  bought  fancy  combs  for  the  girl,  and  she  sold  her 
hair  and  bought  him  a  watch-chain  for  Christmas. 
That  somehow  got  a  fellow.  It  was  a  good  story. 

Anne  Miller  hated  books.  Katherine  liked  to  read, 
but  she  loathed  them.  The  last  was  said  with  em- 
phasis. If  she  ever  got  out  of  high  school,  and  they 
didn't  make  her  go  to  college  (she  'd  never  go  of  her 
own  free  will)  she  would  never  open  another  book. 
She  preferred  to  dance  and  motor  —  anything,  except 
to  read! 

Margaret  was  kindly  superior  to  this  attitude.  One 
was  n't  educated  unless  one  read  books.  She  was  read- 
ing "  Vanity  Fair  "  now. 


CASTE  THREE  409 

"  Don't  you  adore  it?  "  she  asked  Hewitt,  with  en- 
thusiasm. "  I  adore  Becky  Sharp  and  Amelia." 

The  other  group  was  having  a  more  interesting  time, 
if  noise  was  any  test  Joe  Bales  was  trying  to  climb 
up  Bob  Hawtrey  by  means  of  hands  and  feet,  and  Bob 
was  offering  him  no  assistance.  Their  fun  was  inter- 
rupted by  Homer  Gray's  appearance. 

"  Go  to  it,  lads !  "  he  said.  "  Mrs.  Conners  says  to 
enjoy  yourselves.  Susannah  is  back,  so  we  should 
worry  about  destruction  of  furniture."  Bob  had 
backed  against  and  upset  a  small  revolving  bookcase. 
Joe  hastened  to  rescue  it,  with  no  blush  of  shame. 

"  Ought  n't  to  keep  your  bookcases  out  so  far,"  he 
blustered  to  Susannah.  "  Ought  to  put  'em  against 
the  wall,  where  bookcases  belong.  Just  because  they 
put  'em  in  the  middle  of  the  room  in  New  York  — " 

He  was  stopped  by  Susannah's  hand  over  his  mouth. 

"  I  won't  let  you  make  fun  of  us !  "  she  said. 

"  Dinner,"  announced  the  same  maid  who  had 
opened  the  door. 

There  was  no  particular  order  about  their  going  out 
to  dinner,  Hewitt  found,  and  he  and  Margaret  Haw- 
trey  were  the  last  to  find  their  places,  indicated  by 
hand-colored  cards.  Hewitt's  chair  was  between  Su- 
sannah's and  Margaret's.  He  felt  relieved  and  glad. 
He  was  sure  that  he  could  n't  stand  Anne  Miller  or 
Helen  Baxter  during  an  entire  dinner.  He  knew  that 
he  took  strong  prejudices  against  people,  as  Mary 
Young  had  told  him,  and  he  had  already  taken  one 
against  Anne  Miller  on  the  night  of  Margaret's  dance. 


410  CASTE  THREE 

Helen  Baxter  was  not  so  bad,  but  she  was  not  particu- 
larly attractive  to  him. 

Joe  Bales  was  attending  to  Helen's  chair,  and  Hewitt 
did  likewise  for  Susannah.  In  doing  this,  he  again 
noticed  the  rosy  firmness  of  her  skin  and  the  bright 
streaks  in  her  hair  at  the  temples. 

She  was  like  a  water-lily,  Hewitt  decided,  suddenly 
pleased  with  this  figure  of  speech.  She  was  waxily 
firm  and  strong,  and  rounded  delicately.  She  was 
slightly  taller,  when  she  stood,  than  any  of  the  other 
girls  present,  but  in  sitting  her  shoulders  drooped 
slightly  forward  in  a  way  that  made  her  look  younger 
than  when  she  was  erect.  She  must  be  nineteen,  he 
thought,  but  she  looked  that  indeterminate  age  which 
makes  it  impossible  to  judge  accurately  the  age  of  one 
of  her  type  from  sixteen  to  twenty-three  or  four. 
There  was  a  smile  on  her  lips  continually,  but  it  was 
hardly  more  than  a  negation  of  seriousness. 

Homer  Gray  was  guiding  the  general  conversation 
from  his  place  beside  Mrs.  Conners.  He  seemed  to 
amuse  her  immensely  by  his  quick  bits  of  satire  and  his 
explosive  jests  at  the  expense  of  the  more  youthful 
members  of  the  party.  Susannah  talked  little,  but  she 
turned  to  Hewitt  several  times  with  a  comment  meant 
for  him  alone.  This  attention  flattered  him.  She  was, 
he  could  tell,  taking  him  very  seriously,  as  a  brilliant 
person  temporarily  sojourning  in  Alston,  as  the  kind  of 
a  boy  Mary  Young  had  publicly  valued.  He  was  glad 
now  of  Mary  Young's  endorsement.  It  was  she  who 
had  made  possible  this  notice  of  his  intellectual  superi- 


CASTE  THREE  411 

ority.  He  was  sorry  for  all  the  times  a  truant  third 
Hewitt  had  maligned  and  insulted  her.  She  was  a 
wonderful  Mary,  and  a  real  friend.  She  had  spurned 
him  privately,  but  had  lauded  him  to  caste  three.  And 
he  felt  now  that  he  would  willingly  have  endured  all 
the  misery  —  it  seemed  much  less  in  retrospect  than  it 
actually  had  been  —  of  loving  her  without  hope  of  an 
adequate  return,  if  he  had  then  known  that  it  was  Mary 
who  was  to  make  it  possible  for  him  to  sit  almost 
calmly  beside  Susannah  Conners  at  a  dinner-party  in 
her  mother's  house.  It  was  sweet  and  entirely  char- 
acteristic of  Mary  to  write  to  Mrs.  Conners  about  him. 
At  a  distance  she  had  probably  been  overcome  with 
repentance  for  having  aroused  a  love  which  had  been 
stronger  than  she  had  counted  on.  She  would  never 
have  admitted  it  in  Alston,  but  she  probably  knew 
that  she  had  been  responsible  for  an  unhappiness  in 
him  which  she  might  have  easily  avoided  from  the 
first.  So  she  had  written  this  letter,  mentioning  him 
as  a  nice  newcomer  whom  Susannah  would  like. 
Hewitt  correctly  analyzed  her  act  in  this  way. 

Colleges,  tennis,  New  York,  golf,  railroad  accom- 
modation between  Alston  and  New  York,  and  plays 
came  up  in  turn  for  light  discussion. 

Hewitt  had  few  opinions  on  any  of  these  subjects, 
except  about  plays,  and  he  used  that  interest  for  a 
wedge  to  establish  his  position  as  a  man  who  counted. 
He  had  been  necessarily  quiet  before,  breaking  into 
speech  only  when  Susannah's  side-remarks  made  it 
necessary  for  him  to  answer  her. 


412  CASTE  THREE 

"  I  went  to  see  Margaret  Anglin  in  '  Green  Stock- 
ings '  during  Christmas  week  with  a  couple  of  young 
Yale  professors,  men  in  the  history  department,  you 
know.  Guess  whom  we  saw  in  a  box?  "  Homer  Gray 
turned  to  Mrs.  Conners,  and  she  raised  her  eyebrows 
to  indicate  her  inability  to  guess  correctly.  "  The 
Vice-President.  He  nodded  when  he  saw  us.  Hoosier 
spirit,  you  know."  Gray  settled  back  in  his  chair,  his 
hands  in  the  pockets  of  his  buttoned  coat,  his  chest  out. 
"  I  Ve  met  him,  of  course,  scores  of  times  around  the 
state.  Very  fine  man  personally.  Our  politics  don't 
agree,  certainly,  but  I  admire  him." 

"  How  was  '  Green  Stockings  '  ?  "  Margaret  Haw- 
trey  inquired,  leaning  forward. 

"  A  very  clever  farce.  A  woman  whose  youngest 
sister  is  to  marry,  causing  her  to  wear  green  stockings, 
trumps  up  a  love-affair  with  a  man  named  Smith  from 
India." 

"  And  a  real  Smith  appears  and  marries  her," 
Hewitt  could  not  resist  putting  in. 

"Did  you  see  it?"  Gray  asked  quickly. 

Hewitt  smiled. 

"  No,"  he  replied. 

"  Ah,  a  clever  guess.  The  whole  thing  was  well 
done.  I  should  say  that  Miss  Anglin  is  one  of  the 
most  intelligent  of  our  actresses." 

The  dinner  was  a  simple  one,  and  Hewitt  had 
no  trouble  with  the  silver.  Susannah  and  Margaret 
were  both  prompt  in  selecting  theirs,  but  he  did  not 
have  to  watch,  once  he  had  run  his  eye  over  the  row 


CASTE  THREE  413 

and  placed  each  piece.  He  was  so  relieved  that  he 
sighed,  and  Susannah  glanced  around  curiously  at  him, 
her  smile  deepening  without  knowing  why,  except  that 
she  felt  sympathy  for  this  tall,  gray-eyed  boy  who 
was  quiet,  unobtrusive,  and  intellectual. 

"  Is  she  American  ?  "  Hewitt  put  in  again,  looking 
intently  at  Gray.  The  latter  pursed  his  lips  and 
frowned. 

"Isn't  she?"  he  asked  almost  hostilely,  or  so 
Hewitt  thought,  though  he  stopped  frowning  and 
laughed. 

"  I  was  merely  asking,"  Hewitt  smiled. 

Gray  turned  to  Mrs.  Conners. 

"  Very  interesting  woman.  After  the  play  I  was 
introduced  to  her.  It  seems  one  of  my  friends  had 
known  her  in  Maine  the  summer  before,  and  we 
talked  with  her  for  a  few  minutes  afterward." 

Joe  Bales  was  getting  restless,  Hewitt  saw,  but  he 
himself  looked  directly  at  Mrs.  Conners  and  began  to 
speak.  At  first  the  words  did  not  come  evenly ;  he  even 
stuttered  over  several,  but  he  gained  confidence  as  he 
proceeded.  He  began  with  Miss  Anglin,  and  branched 
out  into  a  talk  on  American  drama. 

"  In  time  I  suppose  we  will  stop  being  amused  by 
musical  shows,  bad  music,  and  nudity,  and  develop  a 
more  distinctly  American  type  of  play  that  will  really 
entertain,"  he  ended,  and  felt  the  mottled  spots  reap- 
pearing on  his  cheeks. 

Every  one  was  watching  Hewitt.  He  grew  uneasy, 
and  for  some  reason  his  fingers  touched  the  glass  be- 


4H  CASTE  THREE 

fore  he  intended  them  to.  It  turned  over,  and  a 
stream  of  water  flowed  across  his  remaining  silver. 
Hewitt  quickly  put  his  napkin  over  the  pool,  and  the 
maid  took  the  glass  away  and  quickly  brought  him 
another.  But  for  a  few  minutes  he  was  as  miserable 
as  he  had  been  on  that  night  when  he  attempted  to 
dance.  Every  one,  the  minute  he  had  committed  the 
irreparable  act,  began  talking  gaily,  except  Joe  Bales, 
who  glowered  at  him  and  brought  a  laugh  from  the 
table. 

"What  did  I  tell  you,  Stevenson,  before  we  started? 
No  tricks,  now!  That  water  was  all  right.  There 
.  was  nothing  the  matter  with  it ! " 

Hewitt  laughed,  too,  and  decided  there  was  no  oc- 
casion for  great  embarrassment.  One  must  carry  off 
accidents  like  that  with  a  high  hand,  and  nobody 
seemed  to  mind.  If  one  seemed  to  mind,  other  people 
became  embarrassed,  too.  So  he  threw  a  remark  or 
two  at  Joe,  and  was  answered  in  a  way  that  brought 
another  laugh. 

There  was  a  long  dish  of  olives  and  celery  on  the 
table  which  had  not  been  removed  after  the  soup. 
Joe  pulled  a  piece  of  celery  from  it,  and  offered  a  bite 
to  Helen  Baxter.  She  contemptuously  pushed  his 
hand  away. 

"  Joe,  you  Ve  started !  "  she  said  disapprovingly. 

"  Here,  Hawtrey,  have  a  bite  ?  "  Joe  called  to  Bob, 
leaning  across  Helen. 

Bob  took  one  end  of  the  celery  in  his  mouth,  bowing 
in  front  of  a  disgusted  Helen  to  do  it.  Joe  seized  the 


CASTE  THREE 

other  end  in  his  teeth,  and  they  pulled  like  two  dogs. 
Susannah  shook  with  laughter. 

"  Now  I  'm  sure  I  'm  home,"  she  said. 

"  I  knew  Joe  would  behave  like  this !  "  wailed  Helen, 
as  though  she  were  responsible. 

"  Dear,  Joe  behaved  like  that  before  you  knew  he 
existed,"  Mrs.  Conners  comforted  her. 

"  I  'm  awful.  I  'm  pure  rowdy  low-brow,"  Joe  ad- 
mitted, shaking  his  head  over  his  deficiencies.  "  But 
I  'm  an  angel  beside  Bob.  He  knocked  the  bookcase 
over." 

The  formality  of  the  dinner  was  broken,  and  the 
young  ones  became  exuberantly  merry.  Homer  Gray 
talked  to  Mrs.  Conners,  but  not  before  Hewitt  had 
spoken  again. 

"  Say,"  Martin  Booth  called,  to  attract  Hewitt's  at- 
tention, "  did  you  mean  a  while  ago  that  you  don't 
think  the  Follies  are  good  entertainment  ?  " 

"  I  did  n't  have  the  Follies  particularly  in  mind," 
Hewitt  said.  "  But  they  are  a  combination  of  vul- 
garity, nudity,  and  bad  music,  are  n't  they  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  had  n't  ever  considered  them  so.  I  like 
them.  They  're  fine !  A  crowd  of  us  always  goes  up 
from  here  to  Indianapolis  to  see  them.  What  about  it, 
Bob  ?  Do  you  care  for  the  Follies  ?  " 

"  Only  show  I  give  a  rap  about.  I  call  them  good 
comedy  and  catchy  music.  What 's  your  objection, 
Stevenson?  " 

Hewitt  shrugged. 

"  It 's  hard  to  explain  my  objection,  if  you  like  them. 


416  CASTE  THREE 

Once  in  a  while  they  get  hold  of  a  real  comedian,  and 
sometimes  they  '  make  '  a  song,  if  you  like  that  kind 
of  song.  For  my  part,  I  don't  care  about  them." 

"  But  you  are  amused  by  the  Follies,  are  n't  you,. 
Hewitt  ?  "  Homer  Gray  asked. 

"  I  have  laughed,"  Hewitt  admitted.  "  But  it  was 
the  laugh  I  sometimes  give  when  a  man  slips  and  falls 
on  the  ice." 

"How's  that?" 

"  Involuntarily,  and  not  because  I  was  sincerely  and 
reasonably  amused." 

"  I  wonder  if  there  is  such  a  thing  as  reasonable 
amusement,"  Mrs.  Conners  suggested. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  Hewitt  answered.  "  All  laughter  which 
is  n't  caused  by  a  repressed  desire  coming  to  the  surface 
is  reasonable,  an  intellectual  process." 

Joe  was  getting  restless  again.  He  looked  steadily 
at  the  ceiling  and  neglected  his  salad. 

"What's  up,  Joe,  literally  up?"  asked  Margaret 
Hawtrey. 

"  I  'm  thinking,"  said  Joe,  without  changing  the 
direction  of  his  glance.  "  I  'm  wondering  if  I  '11  ever 
laugh  again." 

Every  one  laughed  at  this,  and  Hewitt  most  of  all. 
He  was  beginning  to  enjoy  himself.  Caste  three 
wasn't  at  all  the  ogre  he  had  thought  it;  at  least,  it 
was  n't  when  one  could  feel  that  he  was  having  the 
support  of  people  whom  he  might  really  like  in  a 
future  when  he  should  entirely  lose  his  sense  of 
strangeness. 


CASTE  THREE  417 

A  stream  of  repartee  from  Joe,  in  answer  to  Bob's 
insulting  insinuations  concerning  his  lack  of  wit,  fol- 
lowed. Hewitt  began  to  understand  why  caste  three 
liked  Joe.  He  would  have  been  in  it,  anyway,  Hewitt 
reconsidered,  however,  because  of  his  grandmother. 
Most  people  in  Alston  grew  into  caste  three.  They 
did  n't  attain  it ;  they  inherited  it,  which  made  their 
positions  easy  and  secure. 

Hewitt  wished  he  had  been  born  into  it,  and  in- 
stantly felt  ashamed.  That  seemed  like  repudiating 
his  poor,  sick  father  and  good  old  Grace. 

The  table  became  so  noisy  that  Hewitt  could  turn 
to  Susannah  without  notice. 

"You  are  Mary  Young's  friend,  aren't  you?"  she 
said,  smiling  deeply  again.  "  Is  n't  Mary  a  dear?  " 

"  I  'm  fond  of  her,"  Hewitt  acknowledged.  "  She 
has  a  wonderful  fascination  for  people,  hasn't 
she?" 

"  Yes.  Everybody  likes  Mary.  And  she 's  so 
clever,  and  awfully  intelligent." 

"Isn't  she?" 

That  was  all,  but  it  established  a  bond  between 
them,  this  understanding  that  Mary  Young  was  a  lovely 
person  for  whom  they  both  felt  enthusiasm. 

Susannah  turned  to  talk  to  Martin  Booth,  and 
Hewitt  was  left  to  sit  quietly,  or  to  join  in  the  general 
conversation. 

From  now  on,  with  the  Conners,  he  understood,  on 
account  of  Mary  Young  he  was  to  occupy  exactly  the 
position  he  made  for  himself.  If  he  chose  to  be  re- 


418  CASTE  THREE 

tiring  and  diffident,  he  would  be  allowed  to  remain  so. 
He  would  make  himself  count  with  these  people,  he 
resolved.  He  would  show  them !  Not  only  Susannah 
and  her  mother,  but  the  others.  He  was  n't  going  to 
be  a  high-brow  stick.  He  thought  he  had  caught  some 
suggestion  of  an  accusal  of  that  attitude  in  Joe's  jest 
about  never  laughing  again.  Joe  was  not  subtle  enough 
for  that,  though,  Hewitt  decided. 

"  Too  bad  we  have  n't  another  Y.  M.  C.  A.  to  help. 
Eh,  Gray?  "  he  laughed. 

"  I  guess  you  thought  that  campaign  was  play." 

"  I  liked  it.     I  want  another  one." 

"If  you  are  so  enthusiastic  about  soliciting  dona- 
tions, I  can  give  you  work  any  day  in  the  week." 

"  Yes,  Homer  is  chief  of  all  organizations  for  beg- 
ging money,"  declared  Mrs.  Conners. 

"  That 's  not  because  I  like  it." 

"  No,  but  because  you  are  capable." 

"  Little  Peggy  Stewart  is  sick,"  Margaret  Hawtrey 
mentioned.  "  I  don't  know  why  I  thought  of  it." 

"What's  the  matter  with  her?"  Mrs.  Conners 
asked,  motioning  the  maid  to  remove  the  salad. 

"  She  has  typhoid,  we  're  afraid.  Mother  was  over 
there  this  afternoon.  The  doctor  has  n't  pronounced 
it  that,  but  Mrs.  Stewart  is  afraid  of  it." 

"  That  would  be  a  shame." 

"  Peggy  's  going  to  be  the  best-looking  girl  in  town 
when  she  grows  up,"  Joe  Bales  warned  them.  "  You 
girls  had  better  hurry  and  get  married.  There  won't 
be  any  men  left  for  you." 


CASTE  THREE  419 

"  You  won't  be  left,  you  mean,  Joe,"  Helen  told 
him. 

'  You  can  bet  your  best  boots  I  won't.  I  was  over 
to  see  her  the  other  day." 

"  That 's  probably  why  she  's  sick,"  laughed  Bob. 
"  People  can't  look  at  you  without  getting  sick,  Bales." 

"  Anyway,  I  say  it 's  a  shame  about  Peggy.  Hope 
it 's  not  typhoid,"  Joe  said.  "  She  's  a  sweet  little 
youngster." 

"  Typhoid 's  pretty  bad,"  Hewitt  put  in.  "  My 
father  has  been  ill  with  it  for  over  two  months.  To- 
day is  the  first  time  he  has  sat  up  in  a  chair."  His 
voice  no  longer  sounded  as  if  it  were  issuing  from  a 
well.  It  was  deep  and  strong. 

"  That  is  a  shame,"  Mrs.  Conners  smiled  to  him. 
"  We  all  hope  he  gets  well  soon." 

"  His  illness  kept  me  from  going  to  Chicago  Uni- 
versity this  fall,"  went  on  Hewitt.  The  words  were 
not  spoken  before  he  regretted  them.  They  would 
think  he  was  pulling  a  long  face  over  doing  his  duty. 
So  he  went  on  to  explain,  and  emphasized  the  cheer- 
fulness of  his  voice.  "  I  might  have  gone,  I  suppose, 
but  I  guess  a  man  likes  to  know  his  children  are  near 
by  when  he  's  sick.  Anyway,  I  would  n't  want  to  leave 
my  sister  alone  with  him  while  he  was  still  so  weak. 
The  doctor  says  he  will  have  to  learn  to  walk  all  over 
again."  Childish,  he  decided  that  last  speech  was.  He 
would  keep  still  for  a  while.  Joe  Bales  and  Martin 
Booth  and  Bob  Hawtrey  were  n't  telling  their  family 
troubles  at  a  dinner-party. 


420  CASTE  THREE 

But  if  Mrs.  Conners  thought  Hewitt  had  been  child- 
ish in  his  remarks  about  his  father,  she  did  not  show  it. 

"  Typhoid  is  dreadful,"  she  said  to  him.  "  I 
should  n't  want  Susannah  ever  to  have  it." 

"  I  shall  run  and  get  it,"  her  daughter  returned,  with 
mock  seriousness,  "  if  it  is  fashionable." 

"  All  for  the  fashions,  are  n't  you,  Susie  ?  "  Joe  Bales 
said,  with  an  exaggerated  grin. 

Hewitt  thought  of  Eleanor  Rowe,  though  he  could 
not  have  told  why.  Other  girls  had  gone  out  with 
Joe,  too,  he  felt  sure,  and  then  there  were  those  In- 
dianapolis excursions.  Morals,  considering  Joe's  case 
and  Tom  Brandon's  and  others  he  knew  about,  did  n't 
make  any  difference  about  your  acceptance  in  caste 
three.  Other  qualifications  were  what  counted.  A 
moral  Hewitt  might  easily  be  less  acceptable  than  a 
loose-moralled  Joe.  Joe  was  funny  and  easy,  also  an 
hereditary  member  of  the  group.  That  made  the  dif- 
ference. 

For  the  second  time  that  evening  Hewitt  wished,  and 
was  promptly  ashamed  of  so  wishing,  that  he  had  been 
born  into  caste  three.  Of  course  overcoming  defi- 
ciencies of  training  might  make  a  man  wise  and  strong, 
but  one  preferred  to  belong  and  be  happy.  Joe  was 
happy,  Hewitt  felt  certain.  He  could  not  imagine  Joe 
as  lying  awake  all  night  hating  a  girl  who  did  n't  love 
him.  There  were  lots  of  girls  in  the  world,  Joe  would 
have  said.  Neither  could  he  imagine  Joe  as  blaming 
fate  for  postponing  a  college  course.  Joe  would  have 
said  that  it  did  n't  matter,  that  college  could  wait.  Als- 


CASTE  THREE  421 

ton  was  fun,  anyway.  And  as  far  as  Joe's  figuring 
out  what  made  people  eligible  for  caste  three  —  that 
thought  was  provocative  of  a  smile.  If  chance  had 
placed  Joe  outside,  he  would  never  have  cared  to  get 
inside.  Joe's  position  must  be  a  comfortable  one. 

Hewitt  wondered  why  some  people  were  like  Joe, 
and  why  some  were  like  him.  He  would  have  traded 
dispositions  with  Joe  and  given  him  his  bank-account 
to  boot  —  a  bank-account  swelled  by  that  extra  hun- 
dred dollars  his  father  had  let  him  have  from  his 
future  legacy.  College  might  not  make  much  differ- 
ence in  the  long  run,  anyway.  Why  did  people  get 
educated,  if  not  to  be  eligible  for  the  social  life  which 
appealed  to  them?  His  old  idea  that  knowledge  was 
desirable  in  itself  had  been  slowly  fading.  Why  ac- 
quire more  knowledge  than  would  enable  one  to  live 
in  a  manner  in  accordance  with  your  desires?  He 
wanted  to  read  now,  in  order  that  he  might  talk  about 
what  he  had  read.  Knowing  things  gave  one  prestige. 

"  I  think  being  fashionable  is  interesting,"  Anne  Mil- 
ler volunteered,  with  a  little  toss  of  her  fluffy  hair.  "  I 
am  comfortable  when  I  know  I  am  fashionably 
dressed,  and  I  am  awfully  uncomfortable  in  old  clothes, 
except  at  school  and  at  the  lakes,  of  course,  where  you 
don't  think  about  clothes." 

"  Anne  's  a  '  dinger '  on  the  clothes  question,"  said 
Joe,  with  a  wag  of  his  head.  "  She  's  right  there  every 
time.  A  veritable  '  Vogue  '  among  ladies !  "  He  pro- 
nounced the  "  u  "  in  the  word,  and  thereby  gained  a 
laugh. 


422  CASTE  THREE 

"  I  like  my  clothes,"  answered  Anne,  undisturbed. 

"  So  do  I,  dear,"  Susannah  said  to  her. 

"You  mean  like  your  own  or  mine?" 

"  Yours.  You  have  an  air.  No  one  in  New  York 
could  approach  you  for  pure  style." 

Anne  examined  Susannah  for  the  purpose  of  discov- 
ering whether  or  not  she  was  being  jested  with,  but 
the  latter's  faint  smile,  always  on  her  lips  and  so  now 
indicative  of  nothing,  puzzled  her,  and  she  turned  away 
calmly  to  Martin  Booth  with  a  question  about  school. 

During  this  exchange  of  pleasantries  Homer  Gray 
had  been  talking  with  great  aplomb  to  his  hostess.  A 
sudden  silence  now  brought  his  words  to  the  rest  of 
the  table. 

"  I  sometimes  wonder  just  where  this  European  ques- 
tion will  land  the  dear  old  U.  S.  A.,"  he  was  saying. 
"  There  's  that  old  problem  over  there  about  the  '  bal- 
ance of  power.'  Mr.  Fairbanks,  the  former  Vice- 
President,  was  discussing  the  matter  with  me  the  other 
day.  He  was  making  a  trip  through  here,  you  know, 
and  he  stopped  off  with  Mr.  Keith.  You  see,  the  sit- 
uation is  like  this:  Germany  has  been  growing 
stronger  from  year  to  year.  England  still  controls 
the  sea,  but  Germany  has  organization,  wonderful  in- 
ternal organization.  We  can  take  notes  on  efficiency 
from  Germany  and  learn  a  great  deal.  But  we  won't, 
of  course.  As  Mr.  Keith  says,  '  America  is  too  cock- 
sure of  herself.'  She  has  '  the  egotism  of  youth,'  as 
a  famous  New  York  publicist  puts  it.  France  has 
little  war  strength.  Russia  is  negligible.  That  leaves 


CASTE  THREE  423 

England  and  Germany.  A  young  German  girl  who  has 
been  studying  at  Barnard  told  one  of  my  Yale  friends 
that  her  brothers,  officers  in  the  German  army,  had 
been  called  to  the  German  frontiers  three  or  four  times 
during  the  last  ten  years.  That  looks  as  if  Germany 
were  getting  ready  for  something." 

"  What  does  Germany  want  ?  "  Martin  Booth  asked. 

"  Seaports  and  colonies." 

"  Let 's  give  her  a  few,"  Joe  suggested. 

"  Of  course  this  is  a  European  question.  America 
is  safe  in  her  own  hemisphere,  unless  Germany  tries 
doing  things  in  Mexico  or  South  America.  She  won't, 
though.  Germany  is  as  crafty  as  Japan." 

"  How  about  Japan?  "  Hewitt  asked. 

"  Japan  will  try  now  and  then  to  take  a  piece  of 
China.  She  is  too  clever  to  entangle  herself  with  a 
real  fighting  power  like  the  United  States." 

"  I  would  n't  be  too  sure  about  our  standing  army," 
Martin  Booth  said. 

"  Our  standing  army  is  not  large,  I  admit.  But,  as 
C.  J,  Preston,  who  's  been  traveling  in  Europe  during 
the  last  year,  says,  nearly  every  man  in  this  country 
can  handle  a  gun  with  some  degree  of  skill.  The 
greatest  volunteer  army  in  the  world  would  arise  to , 
put  down  any  power  which  threatened  America.  No 
power  will  threaten  America.  They  're  afraid  to." 

"  But  why  go  to  war  at  all  ?  "  Mrs.  Conners  sighed. 

"  That 's  what  a  great  many  people  in  the  world 
have  been  saying  for  the  last  decade.  The  time  is 
ripe  for  a  world  peace,  almost  ripe." 


424  CASTE  THREE 

"  Then  why  not  have  peace  ?  " 

"  Because  two  powers  are  not  ready  for  peace." 

"And  they  are?" 

"Japan  and  Germany.  They  both  want  things. 
Their  present  situation  is  not  satisfactory  to  them." 

"  You  say,  '  Peace !  Peace ! '  and  there  is  no  peace !  " 
Joe  exploded,  misquoting  a  famous  orator. 

Hewitt,  drinking  his  demi-tasse  and  nibbling  at  his 
cracker,  almost  choked  at  this  remark. 

"Be  careful,  Stevenson!  You've  performed  once 
this  evening,"  Joe  warned  him. 

"  It  was  n't  really  funny.  You  were  just  surprised, 
were  n't  you,  Hewitt  ?  "  Susannah  asked  him.  It  was 
the  first  time  she  had  addressed  him  by  name,  and  her 
calling  him  "  Hewitt  "  pleased  him. 

"  I  was  astonished  at  the  paradox  of  Joe  Bales 
quoting  Patrick  Henry,"  he  said,  laughing. 

"  Ah  ha!  "  Joe  snorted,  "  Hewitt  knows  Patrick!  " 

"  I  once  recited  that  speech  at  school,  myself,"  Bob 
Hawtrey  said.  "  I  was  immensely  impressive  at  the 
end.  I  backed  into  the  rostrum  and  fell  down." 

"  What  was  impressed  ?  "  an  innocent  Joe  queried. 
"The  floor?" 

"  Raw,  Joe,"  Martin  accused  him.  "  Let 's  have 
real  wit,  or  none !  " 

"  I  think  that  was  a  very  good  joke,  Joe !  "  Susannah 
said.  "  That  is,  for  you,"  she  added  softly. 

"  Shall  we  continue  this  flow  of  cleverness  in  the 
parlor?"  Mrs.  Conners  asked,  rising.  Homer  Gray, 


CASTE  THREE  42? 

Hewitt  noted,  was  quick  to  lift  her  chair  back.  He 
imitated  this  lead,  and  was  close  behind  Susannah  as 
she  made  her  way  to  the  door.  Hewitt  liked  Susannah. 

Music  followed.  Susannah  sang  some  pretty 
songs  which  Hewitt  approved.  Joe  Bales  also  had  his 
opportunity  to  entertain,  and  played  "  Chop-Sticks  "  on 
the  piano,  using  both  hands,  a  feat  that  was  roundly 
applauded. 

"  Consarn  it,  that 's  hard  work ! "  he  complained 
afterward.  "  It  was  hard  to  learn,  too.  Say,  Susie, 
you  taught  me  that,  didn't  you?  Remember?  " 

Susannah  did  not. 

"  One  night  over  at  your  house,  after  a  dance. 
Don't  you  remember?  Your  father  came  downstairs 
in  a  bathrobe  and  sent  me  home,  with  kindly  instruc- 
tions not  to  wake  the  town  thereafter." 

Susannah  did  at  length  remember,  and  turned  away 
toward  the  window.  Hewitt  wondered  if  she  was  still 
made  sad  by  mention  of  her  father. 

Homer  Gray  presently  reassumed  his  position  as 
self-appointed  leader  of  conversation.  He  did  this  by 
doing  most  of  the  talking  himself,  allowing  the  younger 
and  less  able  of  the  group  to  put  in  questions  from 
which  he  could  develop  a  round  talk.  He  spoke  a 
good  deal  about  vice-presidents  and  ex-governors  and 
Yale  professors.  He  casually  introduced  a  Senator, 
and  once  he  referred  in  a  careless  tone  to  so  unim- 
portant a  public  servant  as  a  Congressman,  but  that 
individual  was  quickly  passed  over  as  being  unworthy 


426  CASTE  THREE 

of  the  serious  attention  of  the  author  of  a  book  and 
the  prospective  prosecuting  attorney  of  Alston,  if  fate 
permitted. 

Some  of  Hewitt's  old  dislike  for  Homer  returned, 
but  in  the  presence  of  the  tolerance  of  the  others,  he 
buried  it,  and  was  glad  to  find  that  later  it  had  not  sur- 
vived interment. 

Susannah  and  Margaret  were  able  to  steal  time  from 
Mr.  Gray's  domination  to  speak  about  Wellesley  and 
Smith  and  Muncie  and  New  York,  but  not  for  long. 
They  returned  to  the  fold  when  Joe  Bales  wanted  to 
begin  an  argument  with  Homer  on  the  subject  of  coast 
defense,  a  subject  about  which  Joe  was  entirely  igno- 
rant, but  willing  to  talk.  Susannah  persuaded  Joe 
that  golf  was  more  interesting  as  a  topic,  since  every- 
body played  golf  —  she  had  forgotten  Hewitt  —  and 
only  Homer  knew  about  coast  defenses.  Hewitt  even 
wondered  if  Homer  did,  but  he  inferred  that  the  latter 
must  have  picked  up  some  information  from  the  lead- 
ers of  the  country  on  this  point,  since  certainly  so  vital 
a  topic  had  not  been  left  undiscussed  in  the  seances 
between  Gray  and  the  chief  men  of  the  day. 

Golf  lasted  only  a  short  while,  because  the  weather 
was  getting  too  bad  for  regular  play.  So  Homer  was 
in  power  again.  Indeed,  he  had  not  given  way,  even- 
to  golf.  He  played  very  well.  He  had  been  runner- 
up  in  the  Country  Club  tournament  last  summer,  and 
might  have  come  out  winner,  instead  of  in  second 
place,  if  the  roots  of  a  tree  had  n't  interfered  with  his 
stroke  on  the  last  hole. 


CASTE  THREE  427 

Joe  Bales  took  exception  to  this  explanation,  with 
his  usual  impudence. 

"  I  suppose  you  should  n't  have  got  your  ball  among 
the  roots,"  he  said. 

At  which  thrust  Homer  turned  to  Mrs.  Conners  to 
talk  about  other  sports. 

"  I  do  hope  we  can  skate  this  winter,"  Anne  Miller 
wished. 

"  Maybe  the  city  will  flood  Athletic  Park  again  for 
a  skating  pond,"  said  Martin.  "  I  hope  it  will." 

"  Every  one  was  skating  in  New  York  last  winter," 
Susannah  said,  innocent  of  offense.  But  Joe  was  ready 
with  a  contemptuous,  "  What  does  a  good  Hoosier  care 
about  what  old  New  York  does ! " 

"  We  care  a  great  deal,"  said  Anne,  with  a  toss  of 
her  head. 

Hewitt  readjusted  his  coat  by  lifting  his  shoulders, 
and  then  hoped  that  no  one  had  noticed  him.  They 
might  think  he  had  the  habit,  and  he  had  always  held 
the  opinion  that  any  nervous  habit  was  decidedly  ob- 
jectionable. But  his  coat  did  seem  to  creep  down  in 
the  back.  It  was  about  time  for  him  to  speak  up,  too. 
He  had  made  but  one  or  two  comments  since  dinner, 
and  they  had  been  to  Susannah  about  her  singing  or 
about  the  music  that  was  popular  in  Alston.  He  did  n't 
approve  of  ragtime,  he  assured  her.  He  was  glad  she 
sang  really  good  music. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hawtrey  dropped  in  on  their  way  home 
from  a  moving-picture  show.  Mrs.  Hawtrey  was  soon 
deep  in  personal  talk  with  Mrs.  Conners  in  a  corner, 


428  CASTE  THREE 

and  Homer  Gray's  leadership  was  superseded  by  the 
talkative  Mr.  Hawtrey,  who  insisted  in  telling  in  detail 
the  story  of  the  picture  they  had  just  seen. 

"  I  tell  you,  that  little  girl  gets  me,"  he  finished 
slangily.  "  She  could  have  me  any  day.  She 's  a 
little  artist.  Got  a  cunning  way  about  her.  Pigeon- 
toed,  too.  That  gets  a  trifle  tiresome,  but  she  's  pretty 
and  attractive." 

Every  one  seemed  interested,  except  Hewitt,  who 
considered  that  regular  attendance  at  the  "  movies  " 
numbed  one's  mind.  He  did  not  air  his  opinion,  how- 
ever, before  people  who  seemed  so  wrapt  up  in  moving- 
picture  theaters.  He  remained  silent.  It  did  n't  seem 
necessary  to  exert  oneself  to  speak,  now  that  Mr.  Haw- 
trey  was  doing  all  the  talking. 

When  the  Hawtreys  at  last  arose  to  take  their  de- 
parture, they  insisted  on  taking  Margaret  and  Bob 
with  them. 

"  These  youngsters  have  been  out  every  night  this 
week.  I  won't  have  it.  Margaret  thinks  that  because 
she  is  out  of  school,  she  can  dissipate  all  the  time.  I 
won't  have  it.  Get  your  hats,  young  ones." 

The  young  ones  were  reluctant,  but  they  obeyed  a 
persistent  and  firm  parent. 

Helen  thought  she  must  go,  too,  shortly  after  their 
departure.  Joe  moaned,  but  said  he  would  tear  him- 
self away,  if  she  was  sure  her  "  mama  "  wanted  her 
before  ten.  "  She  does,  Joe,  you  know,"  Helen  as- 
sured him.  Martin  Booth  offered  to  take  Anne  home, 
if  she  was  ready,  and  Anne  decided  that  she  was. 


CASTE  THREE 


429 


"  One  must  n't  stay  too  late  at  a  dinner-party,  I  sup- 
pose," she  sighed. 

Hewitt  became  uneasy  as  this  couple  said  good-night 
and  departed.  Only  he  and  Homer  Gray  were  left. 
It  was  time  to  go,  but  he  was  not  exactly  sure  how  to 
make  the  break.  He  set  his  coat  right  again,  and  rose, 
after  Susannah  had  seated  herself. 

"  Going  my  way,  Gray?  "  he  asked,  with  admirable 
abandon.  "  I  go  to  Jackson." 

"  Yes,  we  can  walk  down  together." 

The  formalities  were  creditably  got  through  with, 
Hewitt  felt,  as  the  two  made  their  way  into  the  cold 
night  air.  Susannah  had  smiled  at  him  with  a  deeper 
smile  than  he  was  sure  ordinary  politeness  demanded, 
and  Mrs.  Conners  had  been  charming  to  the  end.  He 
had  told  Susannah  that  he  hoped  she  would  let  him 
come  again. 

Caste  three  had  been  very  pleasant,  Hewitt  decided, 
as  he  walked  alone  up  Jackson  Street.  They  knew  all 
the  rules,  and  yet  took  liberties  with  them.  That  was 
why  they  were  more  fascinating  than  the  severely  re- 
spectable. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

IN  January  Hewitt  went  to  Chicago  with  less  of  a 
thrill  than  he  had  expected  to  carry  to  the  city  with 
a  halo.  He  was  sad  about  leaving  Alston.  He  had  an 
impulse  to  throw  aside  his  plans  about  college  and  re- 
main with  Mr.  Smith  to  guide  the  reading  of  the  town. 
He  was  half-afraid  that  in  his  absence  the  good  citizens 
might  fall  again  into  a  poverty  of  literature.  But 
Susannah  was  there  to  tend  the  flame, —  if  she  remem- 
bered. She  had  proved  a  better  pupil  than  Mary 
Young.  She  read  nearly  everything  Hewitt  suggested, 
and  began  to  develop  a  power  of  critical  comment  that 
made  him  glow  with  pride  in  her. 

"  Is  n't  it  queer?  "  she  had  remarked  with  great  per- 
spicacity, after  a  thorough  course  in  Maeterlinck  and 
Shaw.  "  No  writer  gets  all  of  life  into  his  work, 
does  he  ?  " 

That  was  profound,  Hewitt  decided,  and  also  true. 

"  No,  each  one  portrays  a  tiny  section  through  his 
own  temperament.  If  he  tries  to  do  more,  he  loses 
what  the  Germans  call  '  viewpoint,'  and  becomes  value- 
less. He  must,  as  Pater  says,  transcribe  not  the  world, 
but  his  sense  of  it,  to  be  an  artist." 

"Who  is  Pater?" 

430 


CASTE  THREE  431 

"  Walter  Pater  was  an  English  critic  who  wrote  a 
beautiful  style  and  made  brilliant  critical  decisions." 

"  How  do  you  know  so  much  more  about  literature 
than  other  people  in  Alston?  "  Susannah  had  inquired 
with  innocent  flattery. 

"  I  am  curious,  and  I  am  interested  in  art.  Alston 
is  merely  interested  in  living." 

"  And  can't  people  be  interested  in  both  things  ?  " 

"  They  could  be  interested,  I  suppose,  but  they  don't 
seem  to  be.  Some  one  has  said, —  Pater,  perhaps, — 
that  life  is  the  enemy  of  art.  Do  you  understand 
that?" 

Susannah  had  pondered,  her  forehead  on  her  hand. 

"  I  think  I  do.  You  have  to  observe,  instead  of  act, 
don't  you,  to  be  an  artist?" 

"  Yes.  It  is  a  great  deal  like  a  florist  with  a  plant. 
He  plucks  off  shoots  and  buds,  so  that  one  flower  may 
be  large  and  perfect.  Otherwise  the  plant  has  a  great 
many  mediocre  blossoms,  but  no  fine  one.  The  artist 
has  to  have  his  life  closely  compressed  into  a  narrow 
channel,  so  that  the  water  is  deep.  I  Ve  changed 
figures  of  speech,  but  you  understand,  don't  you? 
The  artist's  energies  must  be  concentrated,  rather  than 
diffused." 

"  I  wonder  why  Alston  does  n't  have  writers,  as  New 
York  does?" 

"  American  writers  flock  to  New  York.  That 
seems  to  be  the  only  place  where  they  receive  the 
stimulation  they  need  to  make  them  pluck  off  the  other 
shoots  and  buds.  In  time  Indiana  will  have  great 


432  CASTE  THREE 

writers,  just  as  Scotland  and  Ireland  do.  Indeed,  we 
have  some  who  are  now  living  below  their  possibilities, 
but  who  may  in  time  reach  higher  levels.  You  have 
heard  the  New  York  joke  that  every  new  writer  has 
spent  some  part  of  his  or  her  life  in  Indiana,  have  n't 
you?  There  seems  to  be  something  in  the  rich  soil 
here  that  grows  writing  persons." 

"  You  will  be  a  great  writer  some  day,  won't  you?  " 
Susannah  had  asked,  with  a  repetition  of  her  innocent 
flattery. 

"  Who  knows?  There  are  thousands  of  young  men 
in  Indiana  with  my  possibilities.  One  or  two  out  of 
the  thousand,  by  virtue  of  chance  and  hard  work  and 
the  knack  of  getting  on,  will  succeed  in  being  great 
or  near-great  in  the  literary  field.  I  may  or  may  not 
be  one  of  them." 

He  remembered,  as  he  rode  to  Chicago,  that  Susan- 
nah had  been  certain  that  he  would  be  one  to  make  a 
name  for  himself. 

Hewitt  spent  two  terms  in  the  university,  and  then 
returned  to  Alston  in  June.  Susannah  was  just  back 
from  New  York,  where  she  and  her  mother  had  been 
during  the  spring  months. 

Hewitt  was  glad  to  be  back  in  Alston.  It  had  be- 
come home  to  him.  His  father  was  strong  again,  and 
was  happier  than  he  had  been  the  year  before.  He 
had  bought  more  land  next  his  garden  farm  and  was 
working  it  himself,  driving  out  from  Alston  in  his 
buggy  to  his  daily  work. 

In  August  Mr.  Smith  called  Hewitt  back  to  his  desk 


CASTE  THREE  433 

one  day.  He  examined  him  from  top  to  toe,  in  a  way 
that  reminded  Hewitt  of  their  first  meeting.  Then 
he  said,  "  H'm,"  and  spilled  his  spectacles  down  the 
front  of  his  soiled  vest. 

"Want  to  have  a  talk  with  you,  Hewitt." 

"  All  the  time  in  the  world,  Mr.  Smith,"  responded 
Hewitt,  sitting  down  at  his  typewriter.  He  looked 
more  robust  than  he  had  the  fall  before,  less  obviously 
the  studious  boy  and  more  the  man. 

"  I  've  done  a  lot  of  thinking  about  you  this  winter. 
You  had  n't  any  business  to  leave  me  to  run  this  store, 
while  you  went  up  to  Chicago  and  enjoyed  yourself 
playing  around  that  university.  You  made  me  depend 
on  you,  and  then  you  deserted  me  at  the  altar.  It 
made  me  pretty  mad.  I  've  got  a  proposition  to  make 
to  you.  H'm." 

He  paused  to  clear  his  throat,  and  looked  so  hard 
into  Hewitt's  gray  eyes  that  the  latter  laughed. 

"  I  Ve  always  wanted  that  boy  Blake  to  prepare  to 
come  back  to  Alston  to  run  this  business.  I  like  this 
store.  The  Smiths  have  had  it  ever  since  there  was  an 
Alston.  I  like  it.  I  'm  attached  to  it.  Now  I  have 
a  proposition  to  make  to  you.  Yes  ?  "  he  called  to 
Mrs.  Chancellor,  who  had  asked  him  a  question  from 
the  front  part  of  the  store.  "  Yes,  buy  two.  If  the 
Presbyterian  Church  will  have  breakfasts,  I  s'pose  we 
merchants  must  buy  tickets.  You  can  have  them, 
Hewitt.  Take  your  girl." 

Hewitt  was  not  made  self-conscious  by  this  allusion 
to  Susannah  Conners.  He  was  beginning  to  take  Su- 


434  CASTE  THREE 

sannah  and  the  jibes  his  "  case  "  had  brought  forth  as 
a  matter  of  course.  He  rather  liked  them,  it  is  feared. 
It  made  him  feel  important  to  have  his  name  coupled 
with  that  of  the  most  attractive  young  woman  in 
Alston. 

"  Now  about  this  proposition,"  Mr.  Smith  continued 
presently.  "  I  've  always  wanted  Blake  to  step  in  here, 
after  he  finished  at  Wisconsin,  and  take  over  the  store. 
But  Blake  can't  see  it  that  way.  He  's  got  it  in  his 
head  to  study  law  and  to  go  to  Harvard  for  his  de- 
gree. He 's  had  it  in  his  head  for  a  good  many 
years,  and  I  've  never  tried  to  force  him  into  my  plans. 
It  must  be  willingness  on  his  part,  or  nothing.  When 
you  came  in  here,  almost  two  years  ago  now,  I  knew 
you  were  the  boy  for  the  book  business.  You  were 
interested  in  books,  and  you  knew  them  well  enough 
to  be  intelligent  about  selling  them.  I  remember  how 
Mrs.  Stewart  congratulated  me  about  you  on  the  first 
day  I  sent  you  up  there  to  get  an  order.  People  saw 
that  you  knew  what  you  were  talking  about.  And 
that 's  what  it  takes  to  make  a  success  in  any  business. 
I  've  been  thinking  all  winter.  I  'd  like  to  take  a  lease 
on  this  shoe-store  room  next  door,  north  of  here,  re- 
build the  room  so  that  it  fits  with  this  one,  and  then 
extend  this  store  into  both  rooms.  Then  we  could 
carry  a  bigger  line  of  office- furniture  and  put  in  a  finer 
line  of  stationery.  Too  many  people  have  been  send- 
ing to  Chicago  and  Indianapolis  lately  for  paper. 
We  've  got  to  swing  the  trade  into  line  again. 

"  Now  here  's  where  you  come  in,  Son.     Your  father 


CASTE  THREE 


435 


has  money.  I  want  him  to  put  a  few  thousand  dollars 
into  this  store  for  you,  and  let  you  enter  the  firm  as 
a  junior  partner.  I  don't  expect  you  to  persuade  him 
to  do  it.  I  '11  talk  to  him  myself.  But  I  want  to  get 
your  word  first  that  you  '11  agree  to  give  up  this  college 
business.  You  know  more  now  than  Homer  Gray, 
and  he  went  clear  through  Yale.  I  want  you  to  agree 
to  stop  college  and  take  up  the  business  this  summer. 
What  do  you  say?  " 

"  I  '11  have  to  have  time  to  think  about  it,  Mr. 
Smith,"  Hewitt  said  slowly. 

Change  the  plans  of  his  lifetime?  And  yet  Hewitt 
wondered  if  those  plans  had  been  so  vividly  pressing 
during  the  last  few  months  as  they  had  been  when  he 
first  came  to  Alston,  before  caste  three  had  adopted 
him  because  Mary  Young  and  Susannah  Conners  had 
taken  him  up.  He  wondered  if  he  had  n't  wanted  Mr. 
Smith  to  suggest  something  like  this  to  him.  He  had 
been  working  even  harder  than  he  had  the  year  before 
in  the  store.  His  life  was  filled  with  Susannah  and 
caste  three  and  work. 

Hewitt's  "  thinking  about  it "  included  a  talk  with 
Susannah. 

They  were  riding  in  the  country  the  next  Sunday 
afternoon  in  her  "  roadster."  The  road  led  over  a 
picturesque  bridge,  and  Hewitt  stopped  the  car  on  the 
opposite  side  with  the  suggestion  that  they  lock  the 
motor  and  take  a  hike  across  the  field  and  down  to  the 
woods  on  the  other  side.  They  looked  particularly 
cool  and  inviting  on  such  a  warm  August  afternoon. 


436  CASTE  THREE 

Susannah  acquiesced,  and  they  set  out.  Hewitt  held 
her  arm  to  help  her  over  the  rough  land,  and  Susannah 
grasped  her  dress  in  her  hand,  to  keep  it  from  being 
caught  on  weeds  and  blackberry  vines. 

On  the  bank  of  the  stream  they  sat  down  under  a 
white-trunked  sycamore  tree. 

"Isn't  it  pretty?"  Susannah  said,  turning  to  smile 
at  Hewitt. 

"The  woods?"  he  jested. 

'*  You  would  n't  want  to  be  called  pretty,  would 
you?" 

"Yes  — by  you!" 

"  Don't  be  silly,  Hewitt!" 

The  word  "  silly "  brought  up  another  picture  in 
which  Mary  Young  was  the  principal  figure.  How 
much  more  pleasant  was  this  than  that!  No  turbu- 
lence, no  violence  in  this  love  he  felt  for  Susannah. 
He  wanted  to  protect  her,  to  take  care  of  her,  to  keep 
her  from  being  hurt.  He  wanted  her  confidence  and 
her  affection,  but  he  was  not  helpless  before  his  desire. 
He  felt  strong  and  manly,  able  to  cope  with  the  world 
for  her  sake. 

"  I  'd  like  to  be  silly  just  once,"  Hewitt  mused, 
watching  the  clear  water  where  it  trailed  over  clean 
rocks. 

"Weren't  you  ever  silly?"  she  asked. 

"  Oh  yes." 

"When?" 

"Lots  of  times.  I  want  to  tell  you  something, 
Susannah ! " 


CASTE  THREE 


437 


"What  is  it?" 

Then,  as  he  turned  to  look  into  her  blue  eyes,  Susan- 
nah spoke  quickly. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  want  to  know,"  she  said,  and  played 
with  a  leaf  that  she  tore  from  a  bush  close  by. 

"  Are  you  afraid  of  what  I  want  to  tell  you  ?  " 

"  No-o,  not  afraid.     But  you  need  n't  say  it  yet." 

"Why?" 

"  I  can't  tell  you.  I  don't  know  what  you  are  going 
to  tell  me,  do  I  ?  "  She  raised  her  eyes  and  smiled 
whimsically  at  him. 

"  Yes,  you  do.  Susannah,  just  how  much  do  you 
like  Alston?" 

"  Heaps !  It 's  home.  Mother  and  I  stay  in  New 
York,  but  we  always  want  to  come  back  here.  We  've 
been  here  so  long,  you  see." 

"  All  of  twenty  years !  " 

"  Mother  and  father  were  both  born  in  Alston. 
Mother's  father  built  that  house  the  Y.  M.  C.  A.  has 
now." 

"  You  like  Alston  pretty  much,  then,  don't  you?  " 

She  nodded,  and  tore  up  the  leaf. 

"  Would  you  ever  want  to  live  any  other  place  —  for 
good  ?  "  Hewitt  asked,  watching  her  face. 

Susannah  grew  rosier  under  his  eyes,  and  pulled  at 
another  leaf. 

"  Why?  "  she  suddenly  asked,  brazenly. 

"  Susannah,  do  you  think  your  mother  would  let  you 
marry  me,  if  you  wanted  to?" 

"  I  don't  know;  I  've  never  asked  her." 


438  CASTE  THREE 

They  both  laughed. 

"  Then  I  shall,"  Hewitt  said. 

"Don't!"  Susannah  commanded. 

"  Why  ?     Don't  you  want  to  marry  me  ?  " 

"  I  don't  now,"  she  said,  in  such  a  delicate  voice  that 
Hewitt  had  difficulty  in  catching  her  words  and  moved 
closer  to  hear. 

He  kissed  her  with  some  difficulty  on  the  cheek,  and 
Susannah  arose  quickly. 

"  Kiss  me  right,  won't  you  ?  "  Hewitt  begged. 

"What  is 'right'?" 

"  This  way." 

After  an  hour  of  discussion  they  decided  that  Mr. 
Smith's  plan  was  a  very  good  one,  because  it  meant 
that  Hewitt  would  settle  in  Alston  with  prospects  and 
they  could  be  married  the  sooner. 

"  If  mother  does  n't  mind,"  added  Susannah,  "  for 
she  does  believe  in  early  marriages;  but  I  think  she 
likes  you." 

<f  Think  she  does  ?  "  stormed  Hewitt.  "  I  know  she 
does!" 

"  She  has  n't  ever  led  me  to  believe  that,"  Susannah 
contradicted. 

"  She  told  me  long  ago." 

"  But  you  will  be  a  writer  some  day,  won't  you, 
Hewitt  ?  "  Susannah  pleaded.  "  Mary  Young  always 
said  you  would  be  one." 

"We'll  see,"  said  Hewitt.  He  intended  to  be  a 
writer.  He  would  wait  until  he  had  acquired  a  great 
deal  of  solid  wisdom.  Then  he  would  begin  to  write. 


CASTE  THREE  439 

But  he  would  wait.  There  was  no  need  to  overload 
a  world,  already  weighted  with  mediocre  literature, 
with  more  youthful  ravings.  He  would  wait  until  he 
became  wise! 

Mrs.  Conners  admitted,  upon  being  put  on  trial,  that 
she  had  no  violent  objection  to  Hewitt  as  a  son-in-law, 
providing  there  was  not  to  be  a  long  engagement.  She 
did  n't  believe  in  long  engagements. 

Hewitt  then  signified  to  Mr.  Smith  his  willingness 
to  become  a  junior  member  of  the  firm,  providing  his 
father  could  be  persuaded  to  put  another  section  of 
Hewitt's  future  legacy  into  the  business.  Mr.  Steven- 
son, firmly  satisfied  with  his  return  to  real  work  and 
certain  of  an  income  from  his  land,  consented  to  invest 
five  thousand  dollars  for  Hewitt,  after  a  lengthy  con- 
ference with  Mr.  Smith. 

In  September  Mary  Young  came  back  to  Alston  to 
spend  the  winter.  One  afternoon  Mrs.  Conners  sug- 
gested that  the  four  of  them  —  Hewitt,  Susannah, 
Mary,  and  herself  —  motor  to  Indianapolis  for  dinner 
and  go  to  the  theater  afterward. 

Susannah  drove  the  car,  with  Hewitt  at  her  side, 
ready  to  take  the  wheel  when  she  grew  tired. 

At  six  they  were  established  at  a  table  at  the  Severin. 
Hewitt  had  previously  driven  around  to  get  tickets  for 
the  Little  Theater. 

Mary  Young  was  as  effervescent  as  ever.  Time  de- 
tracted no  whit  from  her  youth  fulness.  She  was 
gayer  than  youth  itself,  with  the  added  tactfulness  of 
making  others  gay  before  her  satisfaction  became  com- 


440  CASTE  THREE 

plete.  She  bandied  insults  with  Hewitt,  until  Susan- 
nah lost  control  of  herself  and  laughed  so  loudly  that 
her  mother  remonstrated,  insisting  that  the  head-waiter 
would  want  to  remove  the  whole  party. 

Hewitt  was  very  calm,  and  in  fine  mettle.  Neither 
Mary  Young  nor  any  member  of  caste  three  could  now 
deprive  him  of  his  wits.  He  had  learned  a  great  deal. 
He  found  that  people  are  likely  to  take  you  at  your 
own  valuation,  and  he  was  valuing  himself  highly 
now.  He  might  have  been  accused  of  "  showing  off  " 
to  Mary  Young,  who  had  not  seen  him  for  a  year  and 
so  had  missed  the  steps  in  his  progress  toward  security 
of  position  in  caste  three  in  any  place  in  the  world. 

Hewitt  had  found  that  if  you  belong  to  caste  three  in 
Alston,  Indiana,  money  and  its  concomitant  —  the 
willingness  to  make  a  conspicuous  expenditure  —  are 
the  only  necessary  requirements  for  entrance  into  caste 
three  in  larger  cities.  Had  he  not  been  invited,  upon 
his  entrance  into  Chicago  University,  to  join  a  frater- 
nity that  ranked  above  Kenneth  Reed's  in  social  pres- 
tige ?  He  had  learned  to  be  stimulated  in  the  presence 
of  the  unaccustomed,  to  desire  the  novel  —  except  in 
the  matter  of  love.  He  felt  sure  he  would  never  desire 
any  love  except  Susannah's. 

Between  courses  Hewitt  led  Susannah  to  the  part  of 
the  floor  reserved  for  dancing.  He  danced  splendidly. 
He  had  learned  that,  too. 

Just  before  coffee  was  served,  Hewitt  offered  his  arm 
to  Mary  Young. 

"  I  don't  believe  I  've  danced  with  you  but  once  in 


CASTE  THREE  441 

my  life,  have  I,  Mary?  "  he  said,  with  a  smile.  "  Try 
me  again,  will  you  ?  I  'm  afraid  I  was  rather  a  boor  at 
it  that  night  at  the  Hawtreys." 

"  You  a  boor,  dear  ?  "  Mary  denied,  laughing  and 
pinching  Susannah's  ear.  "  Impossible !  " 

Hewitt  thought,  as  he  led  Mary  Young  around  the 
floor,  that  he  had  never  danced  with  anyone  who 
waltzed  so  perfectly.  She  was  wonderful. 

"  I  wonder  if  you  knew  what  a  miserable  time  I  was 
having  at  Margaret  Hawtrey's  '  open  house '  that 
night  ?  "  he  asked  her  while  they  danced. 

"Why  should  you  have  been  miserable?"  Mary 
asked,  sincerely  puzzled. 

"  Because  I  danced  so  atrociously,  in  the  first  place, 
and  in  the  second,  because  I  was  so  violently  in  love 
with  you, —  you  who  did  n't  care  whether  I  continued 
to  exist,  or  died  a  pleasant  death." 

"  You  did  n't  dance  atrociously,  I  am  sure.  I  have 
no  memory  of  it,  at  least.  And  I  did  care  whether 
you  existed.  As  for  being  in  love  with  me,  that 's 
silliness !  " 

"  I  was  silly,  was  n't  I  ?  " 

"When,  particularly?" 

Hewitt,  who  had  heretofore  loathed  references  to 
personal,  intimate  things,  now  spoke  calmly. 

"  That  night,  after  the  lights  went  out,  when  I  kissed 
you.  Then  after  the  Hawtrey  dance,  when  I  exploded 
against  you  and  you  explained  how  you  loved  so  many 
people." 

Mary  looked  puzzled  again. 


442  CASTE  THREE 

"  I  can't  remember  the  last,  but  I  do  recall  having 
done  something  the  night  the  lights  went  out  that  I 
was  sorry  for.  We  were  hunting  for  candles,  were  n't 
we?" 

Hewitt  nodded. 

"  I  was  fond  of  you,  Hewitt,"  she  tried  to  convince 
him. 

"  Not  in  the  way  I  wanted  you  to  be." 

"  What  way  was  that  ?  I  knew  you  didn't  expect 
me  to  marry  you.  That  would  have  been  too  silly." 

"  There  's  that  word  '  silly  '  again.  I  don't  know 
what  I  wanted.  I  think  I  wanted  you  to  adore  me 
violently.  I  suppose  that  if  you  had,  I  would  have 
been  indifferent  ever  after.  You  were  the  unattain- 
able, the  beautiful.  I  was  mad  about  you.  I  used  to 
lie  awake  at  nights  and  make  myself  sick  analyzing 
you  and  hating  you  and  loving  you." 

"You  funny  boy!"  Mary  murmured,  putting  her 
tongue  between  her  teeth  at  Susannah  as  they  danced 
near  their  table.  "  Is  n't  he  a  funny  boy,  Susannah  ?  " 
she  called. 

Susannah  nodded. 

"  Awfully,"  she  said,  smiling  into  Hewitt's  eyes. 

"  Sweet  Susannah ! "  Mary  murmured,  as  they 
moved  away  from  her.  "  At  any  rate,  you  are  n't 
miserable  now,  are  you?  " 

"  Not  exactly,"  laughed  Hewitt. 

"  I  think  your  ever  having  been  in  love  with  me  is 
a  chimera  of  your  vivid  imagination.  You  probably 
never  were." 


CASTE  THREE  443 

Hewitt  understood  that  any  affection  Mary  had  had, 
or  still  had  for  him,  was  very  different  from  sexual 
love. 

"  I  was,  but  I  'm  not,"  he  said  easily. 

"  Susannah,  of  course !  "  sighed  Mary,  mockingly. 
"What  chance  has  age  beside  such  radiant  youth? 
Is  n't  she  adorable  in  blue  ?  " 

"  I  was  just  mentioning  to  your  fiance  that  you 
should  n't  ever  wear  blue,  dear,  because  it  throws  my 
age  into  such  contrast,"  she  said  to  Susannah  when 
they  returned  to  the  table. 

"Age,  Mary?"  put  in  Mrs.  Conners,  with  a  shake 
of  her  head  at  the  irrepressible  girl.  "  You  are  so 
much  younger  than  these  grown-up  children.  You  will 
never  grow  old !  " 


CHAPTER  XXII 

IN  the  end  the  crowd  had  its  way  with  the  alien 
who  might  have  been  the  intellectual  leader  of 
mediocrity.  Right  thinking  —  c'est  le  bonhcur 
d'homme  quand  il  pense  juste,  as  the  French  say,  after 
Socrates.  That  is,  man's  happiness  depends  on  think- 
ing rightly. 

Alston,  Indiana,  pointed  to  other  methods  of  con- 
tentment, however.  There  was  the  content  of  playing 
golf  and  dancing  and  dining,  of  being  diverted  by 
bridge,  of  working  that  one  might  play,  of  tying  one- 
self in  a  net  of  community  interests,  of  taking  one's 
cue  from  other  cities  and  thus  developing  one's  own 
city.  Perhaps  that  is  a  fine  way  to  live. 

Hewitt,  the  alien,  was  only  an  outlander,  a  for- 
eigner, until  he  found  his  place,  an  important,  desir- 
able, and  contentful  place,  in  caste  three.  The  true 
intellectual  is  forever  the  alien  to  every  class.  Hewitt, 
however,  had  found  his  class. 

Can't  you  see  him,  loving  not  only  Susannah,  but  all 
that  she  represents  —  the  gaiety,  the  cheerfulness,  the 
common-sense,  the  small  luxuries  of  living,  the  igno- 
rance of  deep  sorrows? 

Susannah  gaily  takes  life  as  it  comes.  She  plays 
golf,  goes  motoring,  and  dances,  bears  children  and 

444 


CASTE  THREE 

rears  them  —  all  gladly  and  unquestioningly.  Great 
books  are  something  outside  of  herself,  which  she 
reads  and  ponders  over  and  asks  her  husband  about. 
They  are  nothing  else.  They  do  not  guide  her  life, 
or  even  turn  its  course.  There  will  never  be  a  revolt 
in  her  for  imagined  beauties  that  have  been  denied  her. 
She  is  content. 

Hewitt  will  accept  her  two-generation  traditions  — 
none  are  firmer  —  and  sink  into  the  restfulness  of  the 
superficial.  As  he  grows  older  he  will  be  swathed  in 
the  content  of  possessing  some  money, —  his  own  and 
Susannah's, —  a  pretty  wife,  social  children,  and  a 
pleasant  home.  He  will  read  less  and  less  poetry,  as- 
suring himself  that  only  the  discontented  break  forth 
into  poetic  expression,  forgetting  that  in  the  past  he, 
too,  had  searched  for  ideal  beauty  and  been  "  divinely 
discontented."  He  will  read  less  and  less  philosophy, 
science,  and  literature,  remaining  firm  in  the  conviction 
that  his  own  ideas  are  final  and  adequate.  He  will 
talk  politics,  with  no  new  point  of  view,  partisan  poli- 
tics, at  the  Alston  Club  while  he  plays  billiards.  He 
will  be  elected  treasurer  of  the  Country  Club,  and 
eventually  he  will  become  a  member  of  that  eminently 
capable  body,  the  Alston  School  Board.  He  will  be  a 
loyal  rooter  for  a  greater  Alston.  At  first  a  fighter 
and  later  an  accepter  of  the  evils  of  prostitution,  his 
voice  will  be  added  to  that  of  other  members  of  the 
Library  Board  in  refusing  to  tolerate  sex  novels  of 
the  more  radical  type  on  the  library-shelves  to  corrupt 
the  sixteen-year-old.  He  will  be  the  good  citizen  with 


446  CASTE  THREE 

a  large  voice  in  the  management  of  the  affairs  of  his 
city. 

Hewitt  will  be  on  the  committee  to  welcome  a  far- 
distant  Presidential  candidate  to  Alston.  The  man 
will,  indeed,  ride  in  the  Stevensons'  new  motor  to  the 
Court  House,  and  perhaps  he  will  dine  at  the  Steven- 
sons'  new  home  on  Eighth  Street.  Hewitt  will  head 
the  contribution  list  for  the  Presbyterian  Church,  he 
and  Susannah  having  decided  that  it  is,  after  all, 
more  convenient  and  esthetically  more  satisfying  than 
the  older  Methodist  form.  He  will  be  one  of  those 
business  men  who  are  surety  for  the  success  of  the 
"  Chautauqua,"  which  yearly  invades  Alston  in  Au- 
gust with  a  call  to  a  bigger  outlook.  He  will  forget 
about  Nietzsche  and  Plato  and  Walter  Pater  and  Amy 
Lowell.  He  will  be  so  successful,  so  conventional,  so 
the  leading  citizen  of  Alston,  Indiana! 

Hewitt  will  have  paid  for  his  figs  —  such  expensive 
figs. 

In  the  spring  after  his  marriage  to  Susannah  at  the 
Methodist  Church,  Hewitt  returned  to  the  Harrow 
house  —  the  Conners  had  decided  to  keep  it  until  they 
could  build  —  from  the  store  late  one  afternoon  with 
a  bad  headache.  Susannah  was  disturbed  and  sympa- 
thetic. She  put  him  to  bed  and  tucked  in  the  covers 
about  his  neck  lovingly,  kissing  him  on  his  aching  eyes 
for  good  measure. 

"  You  want  the  shades  drawn,  don't  you,  dear  ?  " 
she  asked  softly. 


CASTE  THREE  447 

"  Please.  The  light  drives  me  mad,"  Hewitt  said, 
and  tried  not  to  sound  mournful. 

Susannah  laid  a  cold  cloth  across  his  eyes  and  left 
him,  because  he  felt  better  alone,  he  told  her. 

.Hewitt  lay  there  in  the  darkened  room,  almost 
happy,  except  when  his  nerves  suddenly  became  a 
single  string  upon  which  the  entire  scale  of  pain  was 
played.  Then  he  moved  restlessly  and  writhed  for  a 
moment;  but  the  pain  passed  and  he  again  lay  quiet. 
Presently  he  fell  asleep. 

Darkness  was  heavy  in  the  room  when  he  awoke, 
and  Susannah  was  standing  over  him  with  the  delicate 
smile  which  was  little  more  than  a  negation  of  serious- 
ness. Hewitt  tried  to  smile  at  her  as  she  switched 
on  the  lights,  but  instead  his  face  became  distorted 
with  pain. 

"  This  beastly  headache !  "  he  exclaimed. 

Susannah  turned  off  the  lights,  except  one  in  a  bed- 
room lamp  with  a  yellow  shade  on  the  dressing-table. 

Hewitt  was  exceedingly  hungry.  There  was  a 
gnawing  at  his  vitals  which  seemed  to  make  his  head- 
ache worse.  He  lay  quiet,  however,  while  Susannah 
sat  on  the  bed  and  rubbed  his  head  with  her  fingers. 

The  gnawing  grew  more  painful.  Hewitt  gasped 
with  the  pain  in  his  head. 

Susannah  kissed  him. 

"  Could  n't  I  get  you  something  to  eat,  dear?  Per- 
haps you  could  eat  something  now,  and  then  your  head 
would  get  better." 

Hewitt  demurred.     He  was  too  ill  to  eat,  he  as- 


448  CASTE  THREE 

serted.  Susannah  insisted.  At  length  he  consented 
to  make  the  attempt. 

Susannah  went  downstairs.  During  her  absence 
Hewitt  had  distinctly  pleasant  impressions  of  her 
goodness,  of  her  kindly  ways,  of  her  hair  that  was 
darker  than  golden,  with  the  bright  streaks  over  her 
temples.  He  thought  of  her  mother.  A  fine  woman ; 
an  ideal  mother-in-law!  There  were  no  jars  in  this 
household,  where  every  one  said  cheery  "  good-morn- 
ings "  and  "  good-nights,"  and  every  one  highly 
approved  of  every  one  else.  He  remembered  that 
Grace  had  always  been  sullenly  averse  to  conversation 
at  breakfast,  and  that  his  father  was  equally  silent,  or 
was  prone  to  speak  on  fertilizers.  How  good  Susan- 
nah was ! 

Hewitt  felt  almost  able  to  get  up  when  he  heard 
Susannah's  footsteps  on  the  stairs,  but  he  remained  in 
bed  with  the  wet  cloth  over  his  eyes.  He  was,  indeed, 
hardly  able  to  look  upon  the  food  on  the  mahogany 
tray,  not  because  he  had  any  interest  to  deceive  Susan- 
nah about  his  appetite,  but  because  it  seemed  scarcely 
proper  to  display  too  intense  desire  for  food  when  he 
had  a  headache.  Susannah  might  doubt  that  he  was 
ill,  and  he  was  very  ill.  His  head  seemed  at  times 
about  to  split  open.  But  he  was  ravenously,  unreason- 
ably hungry. 

Susannah  took  the  cloth  from  his  eyes  and  kissed 
him  again. 

"  Now,  darling,  you  will  eat  something,  won't  you  ?  " 

Hewitt  was  able,  after  the  pillow  had  been  patted 


CASTE  THREE  449 

into  a  renewed  fluffiness  and  supplemented  by  another 
one,  to  sit  up  and  have  the  tray  placed  across  his 
sheeted  and  counterpaned  knees  —  a  tray  covered  with 
immaculate  damask  and  decorated  with  a  silver  sugar- 
bowl,  a  cream-pitcher,  and  a  rose  from  a  bouquet  he 
had  sent  Susannah  for  her  birthday.  Hewitt  had 
fallen  easily  into  the  way  the  Conners  had  of  cele- 
brating numerous  anniversaries,  although  his  own 
family  had  never  exchanged  gifts,  except  at  Christ- 
mas. 

He  closed  his  eyes  at  the  pain  which  rising  to  a 
sitting  posture  had  caused  him.  Nausea  assailed  him. 
He  asked  Susannah  to  take  away  the  tray.  He  could 
not  eat,  not  even  beef-tea  and  wafers  and  a  browned 
young  chicken  and  milk.  He  was  too  sick. 

Susannah  looked  sad,  and  removed  the  tray  two  feet. 
Perhaps  he  could  eat  in  a  minute,  he  told  her,  seeing 
that  she  was  saddened  by  his  decision. 

At  last  he  did  eat  everything,  while  Susannah  sat  in 
a  chair  close  by  and  observed  him. 

He  attempted  to  be  jocular,  when  she  stood  up  to 
take  away  the  tray  with  its  empty  dishes. 

"  That  was  a  fine  square  meal,  dear.  I  think  I  can 
get  up  now.'' 

Susannah  protested  against  such  indiscretion. 
Hewitt  insisted.  She  forced  him  to  stay  in  bed  "  for 
my  sake,  darling."  He  remained  in  bed. 

The  pain  had  been  alleviated  by  the  appeasing  of 
his  appetite.  His  head  hardly  hurt  at  all  now.  Su- 
sannah turned  out  the  light  and  left  him. 


450  CASTE  THREE 

"  You  must  go  to  sleep  again,"  she  said,  and  closed 
the  door  gently. 

She  had  opened  the  curtains,  and  a  spring  breeze 
played  with  the  rose  Hewitt  had  fastened  to  the  coat  of 
his  pajamas.  He  slipped  the  under-pillow  to  the  floor 
and  lay  down  again,  a  soothing  sense  of  intense  satis- 
faction enveloping  him.  Life  was  so  good! 

The  faint  voices  of  children  were  carried  to  Hewitt 
by  the  light  wind.  Suddenly  one  began  to  cry.  How 
sad  that  any  one  should  cry  on  such  a  pleasant  spring 
evening,  when  the  world,  despite  a  warring  Europe, 
seemed  peaceful  and  quiet.  He  remembered  a  night 
in  his  own  childhood  when  his  father  had  wanted  him 
to  eat  bread,  and  he  had  refused  to  change  his  diet  of 
peaches  and  cream.  The  tragedy  of  leaving  the  table, 
inflamed,  gulping,  hating,  and  then  choking  back  sobs 
while  he  sat  on  the  edge  of  his  little  bed  in  a  back 
room  of  the  farmhouse  and  gazed  dry-eyed  into  the 
gathering  darkness.  The  tragedies  of  childhood! 

A  sensation  of  being  far  from  the  disturbing  trou- 
bles of  other  days  came  over  Hewitt.  Calm,  pro- 
tected, dictating  maturity  had  brought  him  figs  and 
taught  him  the  rules !  Few  of  those  disturbing  moods 
which  had  made  his  adolescence  sad  bothered  him 
now.  There  was  no  discontent  such  as  strives  to  move 
mountains,  no  poetics,  no  strong,  balked  emotion. 
Hewitt,  the  hugger  of  the  shore,  was  safe  in  the  har- 
bor of  the  commonplace.  The  town  had  conquered, 
and  figs  and  Susannah!  His  jelly-fish  soul  was  be- 
come of  a  pink  prettiness  that  suited  the  town's  taste. 


f*   INHKHONAL  UBflABY  FACILITY 


A     000  040  564     7 


